Only You
by Eos Blaze 0402
Summary: She sleeps in the circle of Damon's arms and dreams about that peach dress. He holds her close and tries to forget the words of his father that never go away. She says I love you, he does too. And yet they dream about someone else. She dreams about the man she loved in her youth, a regret by the name of Elijah. And Damon...well he dreams about someone too. Wanna find out who?
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue**_

'Don't marry her, Elijah!'

The words were sudden and they'd tumbled from her lips in an almost graceless turn of events. Her fingers hadn't known what to do, and so she'd taken his hand in hers like she often did. He'd let her, unaware of the request she was going to voice.

 _How could he know?_

For him, she'd always been a kid.

'Don't marry Aunt Katherine, Elijah,' she repeated, her fingers tightening their hold. She was afraid, scared half to death that if she didn't anchor him to herself, he would slip away like the dream one loved but couldn't hold on to once wakefulness approached.

'What is this about, Elena?'

His eyes were restless when he looked at her. No one had or would ever suspect that beneath Elijah Mikaelson's calm façade was a restlessness that was evident in the constant movement of his fingers, his ever moving gaze, and his sardonic smile.

Stillness was not something he appreciated, even though it was the very same thing the world associated him with. In the company of chosen few which did include her by the virtue of association and age, he shed the mantle he wore for the world.

Elijah Mikaelson was…all she'd ever thought about.

'Elena?' he prompted.

'She doesn't deserve you. She never did. Please don't marry her.' It all came out in a single breath as if she couldn't wait to get rid of the words that were poisoning her thoughts.

'She doesn't?' He raised a brow, the perfect picture of curiosity, but she knew. She knew he was bracing himself for her answer. He was a perceptive man, and in between the first time she'd voiced her request to the recent reiteration that he not marry Katherine, he'd understood that this was different than one of her bizarre requests that she was prone to make often.

'When I see you with her, I ache,' she whispered. 'I burn, Elijah, when I see your lips graze her cheeks, her lips and I hurt when you look at her as if she's the sun, the moon, and the stars. The center of your universe.'

'Is this you trying to be funny, Elena?'

'There's nothing funny about the rage that grips my heart when she smiles in return, when she says "I love you". I cry, Elijah. I seethe for I know she does not deserve you. You deserve far better.'

He gently extracted his hand from her hold, his expression one of gentle amusement. 'I appreciate your concern on my behalf, little Elena, but Katherine is all I want. All I need,' he added as an afterthought.

'Why?' she cried. 'Why does she get you? What does she have that others don't?'

He gave her an exasperated look. 'Do you think of me as a prize, Elena? I am but mere a man, and I love Katherine.'

'No, you don't. You don't love Katherine, Elijah,' she countered instantly.

He didn't look amused anymore. 'And how do you know that, Elena? Did I tell you that, or perchance some divine being whispered so in your ears?'

She chose silence for she had no answer, just a belief that he couldn't love Katherine. For if he loved Katherine, then how could he love her? _She wanted him to love her._

When Elijah Mikaelson had first stepped inside the Gilbert home, Elena Gilbert had been seven years of age and promptly awestruck by his handsome visage. She'd proclaimed that very instance that she was going to marry him when she grew up.

Her mother had laughed and her dad had been red in face. Aunt Katherine had rolled her eyes and grabbed Elijah a little tighter.

He'd been twenty-four then, the prince of his father's vast business empire, and he'd smiled at her childish naivety.

Perhaps he still thought of her as that child, easily ignored and appeased.

'Elijah?'

'Hmm.'

'Please don't marry her,' she pleaded.

His eyes were thoughtful and curious when they roamed on her face, crinkling slightly at corners. 'What is this really about, Elena?' He frowned.

'I…I love you, Elijah,' she mumbled.

When he looked at her, she saw the pity and amusement in his eyes. 'Love? So, I'm the unfortunate winner of your teenage attention, am I?'

Teenage attention? Her love for Elijah Mikaelson was the lightning that burned her every moment, every second of the day. It was a gale that whipped her heart till she could take no more. It was a river that she found herself drowning in often.

Teenage attentions? He didn't know how feverishly and fervently she loved him. He didn't know the voices in her head that tortured her now and again when she saw Aunt Katherine drag him in some dark corner in parties.

How easily he dismissed her affections! How easy it was for him to belittle what she felt as if age alone was enough to dismiss the magnitude of her feelings.

'Have you ever yearned for someone's touch so bad that you feel like you're starving? Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurts to see them with someone else? Have you ever wanted with a desperation that borders on insanity?' she asked brokenly.

'Have you?'

She laughed, a pitiful sound that was a reminder of what she was willing to do for Elijah.

She sidled up to him, her eyes trained on his face, her body trembling at the prospect of what she was about to do.

She'd never tried to seduce anyone before.

She raised a timid hand to caress his cheek. He moved his face away as if he'd been burned. To see him startled thusly—it gave her strength.

'I want to feel your hands on my skin, your mouth on my lips,' she whispered. He sucked in a sharp breath.

'You come in my dreams, you know,' she informed him, her voice the subtlest cocktail of passion and yearning. 'You come in my dreams and _she_ is not there. I am all you want, and I am all you need. Your fingers glide on my curves and your lips taste the same. You push me in my bed. I sink beneath you—my softness cradling the hard edges of your body.'

She looped her hands around his neck and pressed herself against his chest. He remained unmoving, his breathing steady. If it weren't for the slight tightening of his eyes and the gallop of his heart beneath her palm, she wouldn't have guessed that he was affected.

'When I wake up and realize that all of it was nothing but a dream, I scream. My hands ball into fists as I bury my head in my pillow to suppress the sound of my rage.'

'Are you done?' he spat.

'No, Elijah. I often try to recreate my dreams when I'm awake. Beneath the sheets, in the darkness, my fingers play with my nipples, grazing my breasts to recreate the pleasurable ache of my fantasies. However hard I try, I fail. I let my hands slip inside my knickers, grazing the curls, finding the wet flesh,' she purred.

'Stop this nonsense, Elena,' he said furiously, trying to get away from her.

She tightened her hold, not letting him put even an inch between them.

'Stop it? Oh, Elijah! I let my fingers play with my clit, imagining it's you who is doing so. I let my fingers plunge—'

'Enough,' he roared, pushing her away from himself.

'Why, Elijah? Don't you like my fantasies?' It was an innocent question despite the provocative display she'd put earlier. She was still shaking inside. She didn't know how she'd wrapped herself around him and said all those things. Her face must be red.

'Fantasies? You call it fantasy?' he asked darkly. 'Fantasy, Elena Gilbert, is when I push Katherine into the wall and fuck her till she can't walk straight anymore,' he hissed. 'Fantasy is when Katherine bows her head and kneels at my feet, takes my cock in her mouth and blows me off. Fantasy is when Katherine leaves scratches on my back and I, bruises on her thighs. So, your dreams, little girl, they are not the kind of fantasies I indulge in.'

'So, you like fucking, do you?' she asked hesitantly.

'Oh, I revel in it.' His gaze turned predatorial. He gave her a once over before his lips curved into a smirk. 'You have no idea about the kind of man I am, Elena Gilbert, and maybe it's my own damn fault. Had I been my cold, aloof self, you wouldn't have chosen me to be the winner of your ill-timed, unnecessary affections.'

His words were a slap. In her haste, Elena Gilbert had forgotten why Elijah Mikaelson adored Katherine Gilbert and why they loved each other's company. They were both cruel, cold beings, capable of destroying a person with well-aimed insults and barbs.

In her naivety, Elena had forgotten that Elijah was capable of spewing venom. _He was capable of eviscerating her._

'Don't marry her,' she repeated like a broken record.

'Why shouldn't I?'

'She's not who you think she is,' Elena cried.

'For god's sake, Elena,' he snarled. 'Have you stooped so low that you would besmirch the name and character of your own aunt? Do you want me so badly? Am I the prize you covet, Elena Gilbert?'

'Prize? I love you, Elijah. I don't want to possess you. You think you love who she pretends to be, but she's not who she plays when you come around. Please don't do this, Elijah!'

'Daddy's spoiled princess and mommy's darling girl! Is our Elena being naughty?' Katherine's voice came from behind Elijah. When she came in view, Elena wanted to duck her head and slink in the shadows. Aunt Katherine had never liked her, and Elena tried very hard to stay away from her aunt's caustic tongue.

She was decked in a show-stopping dress of black. Curves peeked from beneath the sheer net. The neckline dipped to emphasize her ample décolletage. It framed her hips and then flared in straight lines from below her waist. Her lips were red, eyes smoky and skin like porcelain.

'My, my, Elena! Honing your seducing skills on my man?'

Katherine wound her arms around Elijah, trying to get as close to him as she could.

'Stop lying to him, Aunt Katherine!'

'Lying?' Katherine turned her head partially to look at her, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

'You don't love him. You're just using him.'

'Stop this nonsense, Elena,' Elijah said tightly. 'Why are you humiliating yourself?'

Elena wanted to run to him and drag him away from Katherine. She wanted to shake him and scream at him. Her love for him had made her this way. She was willing to sacrifice her self-worth, her self-respect if she could save him from Aunt Katherine's machinations.

He thought he knew Aunt Katherine.

He didn't know the woman he claimed to fuck.

Her Aunt Katherine was a viper in a human meat-suit. Her greed was insatiable, and she was capable of doing anything to pursue her selfish ends.

Elijah was just a means to an end for Katherine, and he thought what had was love.

'You aren't the only man in her life,' Elena confessed, her voice barely audible.

'What did you just say?' His voice was dangerously even.

'She's cheating on you.'

'You deranged bitch,' Elijah exploded. He shrugged away Katherine's hold and stalked in her direction. His face was contracted in anger, emotions openly displayed. He grabbed her hand and started to drag her away from the gazebo.

'I know you don't believe, but ask her who Trevor is. Ask her why she went to Aruba a few months ago,' she cried, trying to free her hand from his damaging grip.

'Leave the girl be, Elijah,' Katherine drawled from behind them. Elena turned her head and saw Aunt Katherine give her a pitying smile. 'My brother has let her run too wild.'

He was walking with a single-minded focus towards the party. Most people had already left, but few still lingered in hope of something worth gossiping.

'Elijah, please!' she begged, but he didn't slow down and neither did he slack his hold.

She could see her mum and dad. They were talking with Aunt Jenna.

'John! Isobel!'

They turned in the direction of Elijah's voice, surprise coloring their features. Elijah was fuming and she feared what he was going to do in the next few seconds.

'Elijah, is there a reason why you appear so…furious?' her mother asked tentatively.

'Why don't you ask your daughter, Isobel? I believe she will enlighten you what she's been up to that has enraged me so.'

'Elena?' her father prompted.

'I…I told—'

'The girl propositioned Elijah, John,' Katherine purred, ever ready to stir trouble.

'Propositioned? Katherine surely what you say can't be true.' Bewilderment was laced with her mother's tone.

'Why don't you tell your parents what you were telling me, Elena?'

She looked up to see Elijah's mouth twisting in distaste. His face was closed-off and his eyes were unkind. _They were eyes of a stranger._

'Elena, love! What's your Aunt Katherine saying?' Her father was smiling slightly as if he thought this was all a big scam she'd cooked up with Elijah and Katherine. She'd had a history of collaborating with Elijah on her much elaborate pranks throughout the years.

This was anything but a prank.

'Your daughter has surely grown-up, John. I believe she was telling me she fantasizes about me in very explicit words,' Elijah delivered cruelly.

She recoiled in horror at his statement. Her eyes still downcast prickled at the prospect of tears, and she made sure to bend her neck even more so that she could obscure her face in shame.

'Elena?'

She didn't want to raise her head and meet her mother's eyes. She didn't want to see disappointment written there. Growing up, Isobel had been her mom and dad when business had taken John away from home for stretches of time.

She'd been the one to teach Elena how to ride a bike, and she'd also been the one who'd baked her favorite muffins in the morning when Elena had demanded them. Isobel had not only taught her how to hold her head high but had also dried her tears when Aunt Katherine had taken a remark or two too far.

She'd been Elena's best friend along with being her mother. She'd talked boys and crushes with Elena along with having serious conversations about sexual safety and responsibility.

'I told you once, didn't I, Isobel, that you spoil this daughter of yours rotten, and that nothing good would ever come out of it? Katherine tut-tutted.

'Elena, love? What's the matter?' It was her father.

Often, she'd been angry with him in her childhood for missing important milestones of her life, but he loved her. Isobel might have been the one to teach her how to ride a bike, but he'd taught her how to race like a streak on the abandoned back roads of Mystic Falls. He'd been the one to encourage her daredevil tendencies. He'd bought her a bike, a sleek silver Ducati that made wind whip her face and fan her hair when she drove it when she'd turned sixteen.

He'd spent his free hours battling her on her Playstation despite Isobel's disapproval.

He was the kind of father people hoped to have, one who would battle the invisible demons beneath her bed, chase away the nightmares, and tell you stories till you fell asleep.

He was the kind of father who would be in the audience with placards to support her in her singing recitals because he knew she was of a nervous disposition when it came to crowds and also that she couldn't hold a note properly. He was the kind of father who would never beat the shit out of her for liking someone the society considered taboo or off limits, unlike Mr. Salvatore.

He was the kind of father who didn't deserve the shit that was going to unfold.

'I told Elijah he shouldn't marry Aunt Katherine,' she uttered in a small voice, head still ducked.

'I won't go into details, John, but your daughter is adamant that she sexually desires me and that she would go to any lengths to sabotage my marriage with Katherine,' Elijah informed her father acerbically.

She wanted the earth to burst open and swallow her in all her shameful glory.

'You did spoil your daughter overtly, John,' Katherine said in a bored voice, her fingers busy in opening the cigarette packet that she always carried on her person.

'Elena? Is this true?' her mother asked.

She couldn't answer; for she would be lying if she said no. Yes, she desired him, but not in the depraved way he was implying. Yes, she'd wound herself around him like a vine and purred filthy suggestions in his ears, but it had been as much for the show as it had been to keep him away from Aunt Katherine.

'I'd never thought a day would come when little Elena would give me reasons to doubt my conduct,' Elijah said cynically.

'Hush, darling! We know you weren't chasing the little bitch's skirts,' Katherine said disinterestedly, blowing the rings of smoke from her mouth.

Elena knew Elijah would never understand. Even if she shouted at the top of her voice and cried herself hoarse, he wouldn't believe Aunt Katherine's guilt. But she had to try.

One last time.

He'd turned away, probably prepared to walk off.

'Don't marry her!' she said desperately. 'Please! Ask her about the baby, Elijah. She's not who you think she is.'

'Enough, Elena!' It was her dad.

'But dad—'

'You've said enough, Elena Catherine Jane. Go to your room this instance!'

'John, we should—'

'I apologize for Elena's behavior tonight, Elijah,' her father said flatly.

'No,' Elena wailed. She ran to Elijah, clung to him. Distressed eyes met the disgusted ones. In them was a plea that the cold eyes didn't want to see, didn't want to understand. He tried to pry her fingers away from his lapels, but she held on.

'She doesn't love you,' Elena choked on her words. 'She loves no part of you; neither did she love the child she accidentally conceived. You've always been the golden goose, the ultimate prize. She'll break your heart, Elijah.'

He shrugged off her hold and pushed her away. She stumbled, but she didn't fall. He started to walk away. She lunged to hold him back and fell to her knees at his feet.

'Please! Elijah, please!'

She couldn't breathe. Her sobs were choking her. She tried to draw breaths, but she couldn't. Her heart was thudding in her chest, the noise ringing in her ears. Her vision was blurring. Was it because of the tears?

He was walking away, Aunt Katherine's arm linked to his. The world was turning. The blackness slowly started encroaching at her vision.

'Elena!'

'Elena!'

Someone was calling her name.

She could see him no more.

* * *

 **So, I'm very late. This is Eva's gift and this time around, I was adamant that I would start posting only when I complete the whole story. And I did it somehow. Completed the whole story that is. So, Eva, I love you. And I'm sorry I couldn't complete and post it on your birthday. Happy birthday, woman! You're one of the most awesome things that has ever happened to me…**

 **And yeah, weekly updates!**

 **Gods own truth, people! Weekly updates 'cause story is all written.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

'Stay still for a moment.'

'Ouch! Are you trying to gauge out my eyes?' he grumbled.

'Be still, please! Or I swear this brush is going to scoop out your eye-ball,' she snapped.

'You're so mean! I should've gone to Caroline,' he whined.

'Why didn't you? See if she wakes up at four in the morning to tend to you.'

She moved the brush expertly and soon the bluish-purple expanse of skin around his eyes and near his mouth was covered. It must have been hurting like hell, but Damon was one proud, stubborn idiot.

'How did the other guy look?' she asked conversationally.

'Like a fucking model for assault and battery.'

'Why do you do this to yourself? I told you the guy was bad news.'

'Daddy issues, darling! You know how fucked up they've made me,' he replied genially.

She put the finishing touches, making sure that no trace of his brawl was left on his face before closing her make-up kit.

He examined his reflection in the mirror and smiled sadly at her through the glass. She checked her bedside cabinet and sure enough, the bandages and ointment were tucked neatly in one corner.

'Come here,' she said bossily, uncapping the ointment tube.

His knuckles were raw, scraped badly to reveal the muscle beneath the skin. It would take these wounds some time to heal this time around. She applied the cream gently and bandaged the wound.

'Kiss it better?'

She kissed each knuckle without any further discussion, placing his hand on her covers when she was done.

'You are furious with me, aren't you, Elena?' he enquired, his voice that of the small boy he hadn't been for past sixteen years.

She didn't answer him but got inside her bed instead. She leaned against the headboard, moved the covers aside and patted the empty space by her side. He didn't need any further invitation. He toed off his shoes and opened the flap of his jeans. His pajama was folded neatly and placed at the back of the chair. He got in them in record time and got on the bed, crawled across it to hide beneath the covers. He moved and soon he was lying with his head burrowed in her lap, his arms going around her waist to hold her tightly. Soon, his legs were thrown over hers, intertwined in a way that must not have been comfortable for him, but he always slept like this. Wrapped around her, shielded by her body.

She switched off the bedside lamp on his side and picked up her economics book. Her fingers delved into his hair and he sighed, content for the time being.

'I love you, Elena,' he whispered.

'I love you too, Damon,' she said sadly.

His breath evened out in next couple of minutes, and soon he was asleep. Her fingers didn't stop. They continued carding his hair as she studied…

* * *

'I didn't know Damon was spending his night here, Elena,' Isobel remarked at the breakfast table where Damon and Elena were having their early breakfast before rushing off to their respective jobs.

'He sneaked in late last night, didn't you, Damon?' John said as he came down the stairs, freshly showered and in need of food.

'How do you always know that?' Damon wondered.

'Well, I'm a father of a beautiful girl, Mr. Salvatore. I know when a boy jumps in the bed with my daughter under my own roof.'

Elena rolled her eyes at their antics. 'He also saw your car parked outside when he woke the first thing in the morning, didn't you, dad?'

'Guilty,' John replied before picking an apple from the fruit bowl at the table.

The sound of knives and cutlery was the only thing breaking the silence for a while until John broached the topic he'd been dreading to discuss with Elena and Damon.

'About the internship—'

'This is a great opportunity for him, dad. And he needs to branch out. And I don't get what your problem with Saltzman Inc. is,' Elena said, buttering a slice of toast and passing it to Damon.

'Damon can do his internship at Gilbert Co., can't he? One day in a hopefully near future, he's going to be the one running the whole thing, now that you've sworn that you will have nothing to do with business, so shouldn't he acquaint himself with the whole business?' John pointed out.

'He can do so whenever he wants,' Elena argued. 'If he wants to intern at Saltzman Inc., he most definitely will.'

Damon and Isobel quietly sniggered in their toasts. This was what happened when John and Elena butted heads.

'Damon, do you really want to work at Saltzman's?' John finally asked the person whose opinion mattered the most in this scenario.

'Saltzman is one of the best in the market currently apart from Gilbert, Salvatore, and Mikaelson. Scoping out the opposition isn't gonna hurt in the long run, is it?' Damon opined.

'It is settled then. We are not going to have any further conversations on this topic, dad.'

'Saltzman's is partly owned by Elijah Mikaelson,' John said softly, apprehensive of her reaction.

She paused in the mid-motion of chewing, her knife hovering over the piece of omelet left on her plate, her fork dangling dangerously from the fingers of her other hand. It was few seconds before she started chewing her food methodically again, her hands working rhythmically to cut her food.

'It doesn't matter,' she said at last. 'It doesn't matter anymore.'

Damon squeezed her knee beneath the table in silent support. 'I'm not the one interning there, dad. And it's all in past. I was stupid back then.' She tried to smile and thankfully it came out all right by the look of her father's relieved face.

She finished her breakfast and made sure to gulp down her glass of juice before rushing after Damon.

John and Isobel remained seated at their places. Their faces fell as soon as Elena had exited the dining room.

'I want to kill that man,' John said angrily.

'Which one are you talking about this time, darling?'

'Giuseppe Salvatore!'

'So, you saw the bruises on Damon's face?' Isobel asked.

'No! Our daughter's skill with a make-up brush is unparalleled, but I know they were there. Is that man so prejudiced that he can't see what he's doing to his son?'

'They look good together, don't they?'

'Who?'

'Damon and Elena.'

John looked at her exasperatedly. Isobel smiled. She knew how to pull him away from his murderous thoughts.

'Katherine called last night,' she said plainly.

'What does she want now? Has she exhausted her inheritance already?' John spat.

'She was saying something or other about your great-great-grandmother's diamond jewelry.'

'She's not getting a piece out of that collection,' John exploded. 'That is Elena's. As is Grandmere's ruby and emerald collection. Tell her, she's not getting a cent from me. I paid all she was due a long time ago.'

'John, she's your sister.'

'I don't have a sister. Have you forgotten what she did to our daughter? If she's so much in need of money, she should ask that husband of hers.'

'John—'

'No, Isobel. Katherine is out of our lives. Elijah is out of our lives, and that's the way I like our lives.'

'Speaking of Elijah, his lawyer called again. He's made another offer for our lakefront property. This one is even more ridiculous than the last,' Isobel informed him, somewhat distracted by the frown on his lips.

'He can shove his money up his ass. I'm not selling the villa. He can assuage his guilty conscience elsewhere.'

'Do you think it's his conscience?' Isobel asked.

'What he did to her is unpardonable, Isobel. What he made us do is not better either. He can try to buy his peace of mind, but I'm not selling it to him,' John said with finality, ending the line of talk for the day.

* * *

Elena Gilbert parked the car and got out in hurry. It was already ten minutes past the time Damon had ordered her to be here.

He was going to be cross.

She looked around, but he was nowhere to be found. Was he still working?

She decided to wait for him in the park opposite to the office building, choosing an empty bench that was visible from the entrance of the building.

He would see her easily when he came out, and this way she could pretend she'd been here on time and not late at all.

She settled on her chosen bench, placing her bag beside her. She withdrew a copy of Rick Riordan's latest novel and started to read.

She was completely invested in the trials and tribulations of Apollo when she felt someone standing beside her. It was probably someone who wanted to sit. She pulled her bag in her lap and continued reading. The person waited for few moments before taking the seat. Her eyes went partially to his shiny shoes and pearl grey trousers. She focused back on her book. This series—

He smelled familiar, like she'd sniffed the scent somewhere. It was woodsy and citrusy—a combination that felt just so damn familiar.

'Elena!' Damon howled from across the street. She closed the book hastily and picked up her bag, eyes on the young man standing across the street.

She didn't run, more like made her way quickly to his side and wrapped her arms around him, burrowing her face into his chest.

'Did you miss me?' he asked tenderly.

She dragged him off to where she'd parked her car in the reply, grumbling at his teasing, not noticing the man staring at her from the park bench she'd recently vacated.

Elijah Mikaelson stared at Elena Gilbert as she got inside the car. Damon Salvatore followed suit. She drove away fairly quickly, disappearing from his view.

Regret settled solidly in his chest. He hadn't known how being close to her would affect him. Her proximity had made him tremble, not that she'd noticed.

She only had eyes for the Salvatore boy.

They were serious about the relationship, or so he'd heard…

* * *

 **So, thanks for the reviews, peeps! These days I'm listening to Breaking Benjamin. What are you people listening to?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

Damon stared at the ceiling of Elena's bedroom.

Radium stars twinkled in the glittery shadows of Elena's bedside lamp.

She had been used to sleeping in the darkness. He hadn't been able to. So, in the end, they'd spent a full afternoon affixing the tiny stars on her ceiling, plugging glitter lamps on bedsides, and having fun.

This room had become more of a home to him in past six years than his house ever had been. Even before he'd sort of moved in with Elena, he'd spent his days hiding in this room with her. They'd been an unlikely match that had only made sense as the time had passed.

He shifted on his side, and her fingers tightened their hold. Even in her sleep, she wasn't letting him go.

Elena Gilbert, the woman he loved most in the world. The woman he worshipped.

He looked at her sleeping face. She seemed at peace in her sleep. Young face unlined with grief, pale pinks lips slightly parted, dark lashes resting on smooth, slightly darkened cheeks.

Damon didn't get this chance often to watch Elena sleep. Usually, she was the one who slept last and woke up first.

They hadn't talked about his first day in the office. When he'd come out of the building, she'd taken one look at his face and guessed correctly that something had unsettled him. So, in usual Elena fashion, she'd given him a smile and an opening to pick whatever topic he wanted to talk about.

He wanted to talk about his day now, but Elena was sleeping.

He wanted to tell her about the man he'd bumped into, one who'd accompanied him in the lift up to his floor.

Damon started to slowly caress Elena's arm. He didn't particularly like when sleeplessness made him remember things.

He abhorred his memories.

Damon Salvatore hadn't known he was different until he was nine years old and he'd pressed his lips against Matt Donovan's on the deserted playground one evening.

The old wounds on his back tingled in remembrance. His fingers stilled.

' _You're nothing but a damn faggot, boy.'_

He choked on his sob, clenching his teeth and closing his lips lest he make a sound. He hid his face in Elena's hair, his arms going around her. Her hair smelt of roses. It was familiar, safe and dear.

'Damon?' Her voice was sleepy.

'Hmm?'

'Do you wanna tell me about your day?' she asked.

He peeked from behind her hair. 'Do you want to listen?' he asked in a small voice.

'Always.'

'There was this guy I sort of stumbled into,' he said timidly.

'Good looking guy? Tall dark and handsome?'

'Hmm. Around 6'2'', brown hair, blue eyes and a really nice smile.'

'Fine piece of ass?'

He scoffed at her question. She smiled at his expression.

'So, what's his name?'

'I don't know,' he answered pensively. 'I'm beyond saving, aren't I, Elena?'

Her eyes darkened, fury boiling in her veins. 'Don't be stupid! You're fine as you are.'

'Why can't I—'

'You're perfect just the way you are, Damon,' she whispered in the near darkness.

Silence buzzed with unsaid grief and shared sorrow.

'He brushed against me when he entered the lift.'

'And?' she prompted.

'It felt like lightning,' he confessed chokingly. She gathered him into her arms, tucked him close to her chest. The warmth of her skin seeped into his cheeks. She threw her legs over his thighs and kissed his forehead.

'In the end, _he_ couldn't beat the cocksucker out of me, could he, Elena?' he sobbed out.

She held him as his tears sank beneath the fabric of her sleep-shirt to wet her skin. His soft sobs broke her shattered heart, and she could do nothing but hold on to him.

She hated his father. She hated his father's wife.

She hated everyone who hurt him over and over again.

She hated the faceless men who used him; she hated the smirking, cruel monsters of his nightmares. She could do nothing but hate as the world hurt him over and over again.

'I'm here, Damon,' she said tenderly. 'I'll always be here.'

'Promise?' he asked brokenly.

'I promise…'

* * *

Alaric Saltzman kicked the sheets off his body.

He felt warm, sticky.

He looked over at his bedside clock. It read fifteen past three.

He decided to get a glass of water to get rid of the dryness of his mouth. He wasn't sure what had roused him up from sleep. He was usually a deep sleeper, and he slept even more peacefully after copious bouts of sex. Matthew had been a pleasant change from his usual type. The boy had been experienced and eager to please.

Maybe he would think about availing his services again next week.

He got out of his bed and made his way towards the refrigerator. The bluish night lights illuminated his open planned kitchen and dining area.

He poured himself a glass of cold water and settled on the nearby chair to drink it in leisure.

His lavish penthouse apartment was silent, just the way he liked it.

He took a sip and thought about his day. Something was nagging him, something that had been in the back of his mind that had awakened him.

Oh, yes!

The kid in the elevator.

The new intern on the eighth floor.

The pale skinned young man with nervous blue eyes. Alaric had brushed against him while getting inside the lift and then had proceeded to give the guy a generic, polite smile.

The man had frozen, his eyes wide and mouth slightly parted, he had stared at Alaric for a moment before averting his eyes nervously.

He reminded Alaric of an injured animal, one in the process of healing from his injuries.

The boy had too many shadows in his eyes.

 _It was the eyes that had woken up Alaric._

He had never seen that shade of blue before. Blue like the crisp summer morning before the sun made its way in the sky.

He finished drinking water and got up to rinse the glass and place it back on its appropriate shelf again.

There was no way the guy from the elevator was interested in men.

Alaric had seen him waiting for the brunette from his office window when the office hours had ended. The way the girl had clung to him and smiled—there was no way his new intern was interested in guys.

But no matter what Alaric kept telling himself, he couldn't get those blue eyes out of his mind…

* * *

 **An early update! So, what do you think? Fire away, people, and tell me your thoughts about the story so far.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

'I'm taking you out for dinner tonight.'

She stopped brushing her hair to look at him through the mirror. He was propped against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed in front of his bare chest, lips curved in a mischievous smirk.

She resumed the motion of moving the brush through her hair. 'So, it's gonna be fancy dining this evening, is it?'

'Oh, yes! Very fancy.'

She put the comb down and left the vanity chair to peruse the dresses in her walk-in closet.

The section that held dresses remained untouched save for the parties that she had to attend compulsorily. Sometimes when mood struck, Damon would insist they go to a fancy restaurant for dinner.

She would dress up then.

He insisted on it.

 _Said he loved watching her in color._

She spied a black number hanging in front, still inside its covers. This had not been here a couple of days ago, had it?

She reached out to grab the dress from the hanger, but her eyes went over the dress to one that was discarded in one corner. Had been discarded for over six years.

'Elena?'

She didn't know why she walked deeper into her closet to pick that pale peach tulle dress. She'd always ignored this section of her closet. She'd pretended successfully for a very long time that the dress had not been there.

So, it didn't make any sense why her hands were trembling when she hunched to pick up that dress. The material of the bodice was soft beneath her fingers.

Arms snaked around her from the back as Damon pulled her into the warmth of his chest.

She brought the cloth to her nose. It still smelled faintly of heartbreak, bitter tears and roses. Her eyes were dry. They'd shed their fair share of tears over this dress.

' _Elena, everyone's gonna be there. You can't back out of the wedding!'_

' _How would it look, bride's own niece not attending the function? People will talk. Gilbert name will be dragged through the mud if they even get a wind of what you did! Do you want your face plastered over tabloids when they break the so-called scandal?'_

Damon gently plucked it from her fingers and threw it in the corner where it had been lying from past so many years.

He turned her in the cage of his arms, and she pressed her cheek against his chest, her arms settling around his waist.

'You will look like a dream in the black one,' he muttered.

'Is it another of those ridiculously short dresses? One that I keep tugging down after I wear it?'

He laughed at her cross tone. 'I like watching you get dressed up,' he said.

'So, you're saying you don't like me otherwise?' She mock punched him in the shoulder.

'Oh, I like you all the time, Elena Gilbert. It's just that when I take you out, I like watching men stare at you in fascination, and glare at me in envy. I like knowing that I have what everyone covets,' he said softly.

'You talk about me as if I'm the prettiest. I'm not,' she said, amused at his words.

He pulled her in the front of the dresser and made her stand still and stare at herself in the mirror.

'Do you see the eyes of the woman who anchors me to reality, Elena?' he purred in her ears. 'Hers are the most beautiful eyes in the world. Do you see the lips?'

He stepped behind her and plastered his front to her back. One of his arms bandied her to him while the other tugged at the band that held her hair.

Soon, her brunette tresses were free, messy waves artlessly seductive.

'The woman you're looking at, Elena, is the prettiest woman in the world. She is beauty beyond compare, and I like holding her close, I like sleeping next to her and I most definitely like having her on my arm.'

'I like being on your arm,' she said, meeting his eyes in the glass. 'I like the jealous glances of women who want you for themselves. I like knowing that I'm the one you go home with. They can wonder all about the pale perfection of your face, the blackness of your hair, the red of your lips and the blue of your eyes, but I get to stare in these blue eyes when I wake up in the morning and when I go to sleep.' Her voice was an aching, tender whisper.

'We are a pair, aren't we, my love?'

She leaned back into him and closed her eyes in answer.

 _They were indeed a pair…_

* * *

Damon was working on a spreadsheet when Vicky, the boss's assistant, walked in on their floor. Her arrival always spelled doom, and unsurprisingly she stopped in front of Damon's desk.

'New Intern, the boss wants to see ya.'

Fuck!

Not even three days and he was already being called to the boss's office. Had he done something that warranted a visit to the top floor?

God, it was high school all over again!

He got up silently and followed Vicky to the executive floor. She told him to wait and went inside.

He was left standing at her desk outside boss's office, cooling his heels, completely bewildered why he had been called.

'Boss will see ya now,' she said, blowing her gum.

He took a deep breath and walked to the door, knocked twice and entered once he heard "Come in".

There was a lot of glass. That was the first thing Damon noticed. _He could see the skyline._

Unlike his father's office, this one was decorated with modern pieces of chrome and white leather.

'Take a seat, Mr. Salvatore.'

His eyes were drawn to the man sitting in the plushy office chair, behind the Louis XIV desk.

Damon could do nothing but walk and take the seat opposite the man.

'I'm Alaric Saltzman.'

'Damon Salvatore,' he uttered, completely mesmerized.

'I know.' The man smiled and it broke whatever spell Damon had been under. He lowered his eyes, his heart painfully twisting in his chest.

Alaric Saltzman, his boss. _The man from the elevator._

'Have you settled comfortably in your posistion, Mr. Salvatore?'

'Yes.'

'How do you find the work environment at the Saltzman Inc.?'

'It's nice,' Damon murmured, completely flabbergasted with himself.

Why was he behaving like an idiot? Was he going to need an invitation to carry the conversation like a professional?

'I hope you won't mind, Mr. Salvatore if I enquire why you chose to intern here. You could've worked at your father's or at Gilbert's.'

Finally, he raised his head and met his employer's eyes, and hoped he hadn't. Alaric was staring at him and Damon felt his cheeks heat up. His heart picked up the pace and his hands started getting clammy.

What the hell was happening?

'I-I—' he cleared his throat, 'I wanted a change in the scenery, and your company has made its place among the best despite being relatively new as compared to other enterprises.'

Alaric smiled and Damon lowered his lashes hurriedly.

Fuck, he felt as if he couldn't breathe.

He had to get out of here, lest he make a fool of himself. He had to get out right now.

'Mr. Salvatore, are you feeling okay?' Alaric asked, concerned.

'Uh, I don't think so. I think I'm gonna pass out,' he said in a rush and was mortified when he realized he'd said it all out loud.

Alaric started getting out of his chair.

'No-no it's okay. I think I'm just suffering from the after-effects of being called into boss's office,' he uttered stupidly.

Alaric laughed. Damon stole a glance before concentrating on the carpet beneath his feet. _Alaric looked beautiful when he laughed._

'I don't bite,' he said. 'Not until you ask me to.' His voice had grown husky.

Damon stared at him, stunned and unnerved.

And then he got up and walked out of the office.

* * *

Alaric wanted to bang his head.

What the fuck had he done?

He could face a law-suit for engaging in suggestive conversation with his newest intern.

He banged his head on his desk. What the fuck had he done?

The whole encounter was revolving in his head like a damn movie. In retrospect, he shouldn't even have called up Damon Salvatore in his office. He hadn't called any of his interns in his office before. And he definitely shouldn't have tried to be friendly in hopes that Damon would relax and look at his face while they conversed.

 _He was adorable when he was trying too hard to stare at the carpet._

Alaric could still remember the pink staining his pale cheeks when he'd confessed to being nervous about a conversation with him.

Those blue eyes of his had been shy when they'd peeked at Alaric, thinking he'd not noticed.

The air of innocence around Damon Salvatore wasn't what he'd been expecting. Not after his talk with Elijah. His friend had described Damon as Satan himself. Cocky, seductive and a trouble chaser.

The Damon who'd timidly taken his seat in front of him, the Damon who'd preferred monosyllabic answers and had blushed when he'd met Alaric's eyes was a far cry from the heathen Elijah had described.

Did he…like the boy?

But Damon was with Elena Gilbert. Elijah had mentioned it in passing. Alaric had seen them together.

But Damon had behaved…as if he was affected by Alaric.

Did Damon…like him?

Was Damon even into men?

The whole thing was making his head pound. Well, the ball was out of his court. Now, he'd to wait and see if Damon complained about his unprofessional behavior or left the company altogether.

He needed a drink and possibly few pills for the headache…

* * *

 **An early-early update! So, what's the verdict? These days I'm obsessed with this song "LET ME DOWN SLOWLY" by Alec Benjamin. It describes this fic so accurately! Go listen to it, I promise you won't be wasting your time. And leave me reviews, people. Reviews are love. And to my lone French friend who has been so considerate in leaving me reviews, I can't answer you back as you don't login, but know that I love your insights and am very thankful for them. Are you by any chance afan?**

 **Eos out for now! Peace and love, peeps! Loads and loads of it.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

'I'm not sharing my tiramisu with you,' Elena warned.

They were seated in the dim, ambient setting of one of the poshest restaurants in the area, a place where everyone who was someone managed to be seen dining at least twice a week.

'You can never deny me, Elena,' Damon muttered confidently, his lips curving in a smirk.

'Unfortunately, that does seem to be the truth. So, wanna tell me what has you on the edge?'

He looked over at her. 'How do you know me so well?'

She smiled. 'Diversions don't work on me, Salvatore. So, you wanna spill now, or do you want me to kiss it out of you?'

'As if you—'

'Well, well, well. What do we have here?' Katherine's voice came from behind Elena and Damon noticed as she visibly stiffened, the smile disappearing from her lips, eyes dropping down.

It would be a cold day in hell if he let Katherine upset Elena on his watch. The bitch could have her daily dose of sadistic pleasure on someone else's expense.

'Oh, didn't see you there, stepmother. Where is my daddy dearest?' Damon drawled.

Katherine had married Damon's father two years ago. Damon had not even deigned to attend the wedding despite his brother's appeals. It was no secret that Damon and Mr. Salvatore didn't see eye to eye. The world often assumed that it was because of Damon's and Elena's relationship, not knowing that it was far from the actual truth.

When he'd moved in with Elena and stories of their relationship had started doing rounds in the society pages of the newspapers, his father had called him to congratulate about his success in shedding his gayness.

 _He'd vomited after he'd hung up._

So, he would be damned if he gave Katherine the satisfaction of seeing how unsettled she still made Elena.

'So, stepmother, you didn't answer me. What are you doing here all alone?'

Katherine gave him a glare. 'I've come to enjoy fine dining, stepson. Unlike you and Elena, I don't have the time to spend every day in restaurants.'

'You mean money, right?'

Damon knew he'd hit a nerve when Katherine looked ready to murder him. So, daddy dearest was holding the purse strings for step-mommy dearest, was he? Good for him.

'If you are done, stepmother, we are trying to enjoy our dinner.'

'Well, Elena still hasn't greeted me. It has been ages since I saw my favorite niece,' Katherine gushed, coming to stand beside Elena.

Elena tilted her head and looked her aunt in the eye, not making any movement at all.

'Age is showing on your face, Aunt Katherine,' she purred. 'And I'm your only niece.'

People from nearby tables were staring. Elena had been loud. _Knowingly_.

Katherine knew when she'd been bested, and so armed with the knowledge, she decided to beat a hasty retreat.

After a moment or two, other patrons returned to their dinners, and Damon and Elena were left relatively alone in their shadowed alcove.

'You are hot when you're mean,' Damon whispered from across the table.

She made a show of flipping her hair and giving him a sexy stare before she started laughing…

* * *

Elijah broke the stem of the flute he'd been holding when Elena leaned back in her chair and laughed. She'd grown into her looks. She'd left the girl who'd fallen on her knees for him far behind.

Watching Katherine get her comeuppance had been amusing.

He watched riveted when the Salvatore boy held her hand beneath the table, when she gave him a glance from beneath her lashes, when she fed him dessert from her plate.

He dropped the glass pieces and fished his pocket square absently to wrap it around his bleeding palm.

He was sitting across from their table, hidden in the darkness behind the potted fern.

She was…a vision. Why had he not noticed it when she'd been handing her heart to him on a plate? He'd been a fool. Men often were when they thought they knew everything, when they thought their blueprint for the rest of their life was something set in stone.

Salvatore placed a kiss on the back of her palm. She beamed in return.

He continued to watch her until she got up and Salvatore took her hand after settling the bill to walk out of the restaurant.

He'd thought about apologizing for his act many times, but he'd never managed to have enough courage. His invitation to Gilbert household had dwindled after his marriage to that of once or twice a year when cutting him from guest list became almost impossible for John and Isobel.

Elena never attended those parties or any parties that he frequented for the matter of fact.

He'd thought about writing her a letter, but he could never manage to find the right words.

 _She'd forgotten him._

 _He'd kept her alive in his memories._

 _The seventeen-year-old her._

When he passed out in nights after drinking himself to stupor, her tear stained face haunted his dreams. He remembered every word she'd said to him after his engagement party. It was hard not to when his beloved Katherine had filed for divorce after two months of marriage, after he'd caught her in their bed with his Accounts Manager, Trevor Goldstein.

He in his foolishness had not even made Katherine sign prenup, and so the divorce had cost him half of his personal fortune. It had taken him five years of tireless work to earn all of what he'd lost to her. Katherine had spent all of it in mere two years.

He wondered how he'd managed to lose his head over Katherine. Had it been the beautiful face? _The face that paled in comparison to Elena's_. Or had it been the hedonistic pleasure that they'd derived from one another?

 _Had it even been love?_

Little Elena had been right. He'd been Katherine's golden goose, one she'd enjoyed butchering. Katherine Gilbert had played him like a fiddle, and he'd been too unaware to do anything about it all. What he'd done to Elena was…unforgivable.

When he'd been signing his name on the documents for divorce, he'd realized that God had managed to serve him his just desserts for what he'd done to little Elena.

When he remembered his wedding day, he didn't remember what Katherine had worn or what kind of flowers had been in her bouquet. He didn't remember the taste of his wedding cake or the song he'd danced the first dance on. All he recalled was Elena's pale peach tulle dress and her watery eyes. All he could remember was his cruelty.

Elena Gilbert was his one regret.

One that he desperately wanted to be forgiven for.

 _At any cost._

* * *

'You're such a diva!' she grumbled as she took his pro-offered hand and got out of the passenger seat. 'I'm leaving my heels in the car and if you dare make a comment about traipsing barefoot to the supermarket, I'm gonna rip your nuts and feed them to you.'

He sniggered, but managed to keep a straight face as they walked inside the store.

She stalked off to the frozen food section, muttering about dickheads and their proclivity towards everything sweet.

He started perusing the shelves for chips. She loved her chips, even when he'd to drag her extra few miles for the run.

Elena was walking out of the freezer with the last carton of chocolate chip mint ice cream when she brushed past against the man going in the opposite direction.

'Sorry, didn't see you there!'

'No harm, no foul,' he said. 'It seems you're holding the last of my coveted ice cream anyway.'

'This thing?' She turned the carton in her hands. 'Damon likes the flavor too.'

'Salvatore?' he asked, surprised.

'Yes. Do you know him?'

'Alaric Saltzman,' the man replied. 'I would shake your hand if I weren't holding so many things.'

'It's okay. So, you're the man my Damon works for. Cool.'

They started walking towards the cashier together. 'So, is Damon okay?' he asked as he started piling all his stuff for billing.

'Yes. Why do you ask?'

'It's just that he rushed out of my office quite suddenly while we were having a conversation.'

'Is that so?' She smiled mischievously. 'Damon!' she hollered and he came running from around the corner.

He looked at her, turned her around only to make sure that she was okay and not mortally wounded as he'd been dreading.

'How many times do I have to tell you that you have to stop giving me such heart attacks?' he admonished.

'Poor baby! Did I really scare you?'

'You know you did,' he replied against the skin of her forehead, and it was then when he noticed his boss standing there and watching the whole scenario unfold.

'Mr. Saltzman, good evening.'

Elena snaked her arms around his waist and he pulled her close to his body. 'Mr. Saltzman was just telling me you were quite abrupt when you ran out of a meeting today, honey.'

He looked at her, his brows creasing slightly in confusion. 'You know me, darling. I don't have a sterling record when it comes to authority figures,' he murmured, his eyes staring at her lips.

'Don't you think you should apologize to Mr. Saltzman?'

'No, no, Miss Gilbert. Mr. Salvatore didn't do anything wrong—' Alaric started protesting but she cut him off.

'It is once in a lifetime when Damon apologizes, Mr. Saltzman. Let him humble himself now, and he won't tell you this, but he prefers Damon to stuffy Mr. Salvatore. Mr. Salvatore is his father and Damon doesn't exactly get along with him. I'm sure you must have heard,' she whispered conspiratorially.

'Miss Gilbert—'

'Call me Elena, Mr. Saltzman.'

'Then you must call me Alaric.'

'Damon?' she prompted.

He looked at her and sighed. She knew he could never deny her anything. 'I'm sorry for leaving our meeting in between, Mr. Saltzman.'

'It's of no consequence, Damon,' Alaric replied amicably.

She clapped happily at that, being a little more animated than she usually was, but then it seemed she was putting on a show for Saltzman's benefit.

'It was so nice meeting you here, Alaric. Now, you know Damon and you have a common ground when it comes to ice cream!'

Alaric didn't know what to say.

A befuddled Damon paid at the counter and she dragged him out by his arm, but not before turning back in mid-stride and winking at him when Damon's face was turned away.

 _What did her wink mean?_

Alaric really wanted to just fall down on his bed and sleep, and probably dream about Damon's gorgeous eyes.

* * *

 **Thank you for all your love, people. It thrills me to read your reviews and your thoughts about the story.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

She was sitting in the reception.

Elijah felt like running away.

He'd been exiting the elevator when he'd seen her sitting primly on one of the various couches dotting the reception area of Saltzman Inc. He'd rushed inside the corridor that led to the basement level to avoid recognition if and when she raised her head.

Now, he was standing against the wall, his heart going a mile a minute and he didn't know what to do. If he walked past her, she would see him. He didn't want her to see him here. In between so many people.

He was barely capable of facing her all alone. He didn't know what he would do if they ever came face to face amid company.

He peeked from the corner like a twelve-year-old spying on his crush. She was engrossed in a novel. The cover was different from the one she'd been reading that day in the park.

Why had he chosen this time of the day to come visit Alaric? Usually, he came to the office in the late evenings when most of Alaric's staff was gone.

The elevator doors opened again to reveal Damon Salvatore who smiled instantly when he noticed Elena sitting in the reception. Behind Salvatore was his friend Alaric whose eyes flickered to Salvatore's derriere ever so often and then turned sideways to confirm if anyone had seen him checking out his intern.

If he weren't in such a bind, Elijah would have rolled around on the floor with laughter.

In one such vigilant sweep, Alaric's eyes fell on Elijah and Elijah knew the cat was out of the bag.

'Elijah!'

He saw Salvatore stiffen visibly as he went to stand in front of Elena.

He walked away from his hiding place, thousand thoughts running in his head.

What was he going to say to her?

How was he going to meet her eyes?

Alaric looked eager, Salvatore murderous and Elena…

Elena looked disinterested. Almost bored.

His heart skipped a beat.

His throat felt dry.

His hands were clammy.

'I'm sure you know my good friend Elijah Mikaelson,' Alaric introduced.

'Pleasure, Mr. Mikaelson,' Elena uttered monotonously, her eyes passing over him in polite indifference.

 _As if he were some stranger._

As if she'd never declared her steadfast love for him.

His heart sank.

'Mikaelson,' Salvatore muttered, giving a barely civil nod, one that Elijah returned woodenly.

The atmosphere was awkward and charged with undercurrents. Alaric looked uncomfortable. Nobody was willing to break the silence. Well, except for Elena.

'It was nice seeing you again, Alaric. Elijah. We have to be somewhere, so we will be going.'

Salvatore clasped her fingers and they started to walk away.

'Damon. Elena,' Alaric called from behind.

The couple paused and turned around to possibly inquire about the matter for which Alaric had chosen to halt their departure. But before they could ask anything, Alaric was already on a roll.

'I'm having a party this evening and you guys have to come.'

'This evening? Elena and I have plans—'

'—which are totally amendable. Right, honey?' she asked Salvatore. He looked at her, their eyes holding the gaze for a moment too long. He shrugged in response.

'We are going to be there, Alaric,' Elena said graciously. 'Now, if you'll excuse us, we have some shopping to do.'

With that she walked out of the building, hand in hand with Salvatore.

They'd talked without words when Salvatore had stared at her for a moment too long. They'd communicated in a language which was alien to him.

 _He wanted to learn that language._

 _He wanted to talk to her without words._

 _He wanted to stare deep into her eyes…_

* * *

'You could've turned down his invitation.'

'What for?'

'Mikaelson is gonna be there.'

'So?' She arched her eyebrows regally while holding a black silk chiffon dress.

'I don't want you to be hurt, Elena.'

'I've grown up, Damon. I've left my seventeen-year-old self behind, in the past where it belongs. And to think of it, what worse can he do to me?'

'I worry,' he sighed. 'I still think we should cancel. We had plans to binge on "Madmen" and stuff our face with pizza.'

'Lame,' she remarked, critically eyeing the details of the black dress she held, comparing it to the midnight blue one still on the rack. 'Alaric was checking you out.'

'What?' Damon sputtered.

'Oh, he's got hots for you, Salvatore, and the guy doesn't even know you're into him.'

'I'm not.'

'You're so. Which one should I try first?' she enquired, gesturing at the black and blue one she had draped on her arm. He eyed the dresses disinterestedly and then got up to peruse the section.

He spied a dress hanging in the end, obscured by a gaudy red number and an equally sequined cyan one.

It was not a dress many could carry, but on Elena, it would look perfect.

He snagged the piece and held it out for her.

'No,' she said flatly, lips pursed in a frown.

'Try it, Elena,' he pushed her towards the trial room, carrying the dress with him. 'It's not peach. It's pink. Trust me.'

'I do,' she said immediately.

'Then do as I say, Elena.'

After she was safely inside the confines of the changing room, Damon let himself think about her comment. Was Alaric really attracted to him?

He'd not given the man any signal that he was attracted towards him, had he?

Or had Alaric known just by looking at him, that he was one of _those men_.

He shook his head in disgust. He couldn't do anything properly. He always messed things up.

What if Alaric knew that he wasn't who he pretended to be in the public eye? What if he'd told Mikaelson? What if this whole party was Mikaelson's ploy to hurt Elena again?

He—

'How do I look?' Elena stood before him in _the dress_ , a vision straight from male fantasy, her timid question a reminder of how brutally her confidence had been plucked at.

He gazed at her, this woman who was braver than any person he'd ever known, who often became a lioness to stand in front of him, who didn't forget to snub his father or cut him on any social occasion she found herself in his company, who rocked him to sleep in nights, who sang for him when nightmares dared to creep near him—this woman was a beauty beyond compare.

She was Aphrodite herself, Venus incarnated in human flesh.

She was also scared of her beauty, afraid to flaunt it. She in her childish naivety had dared once and she'd been so brutally rejected that she hadn't dared to try again.

'Perfect,' he uttered.

She stood there like a statute, like a dream come to life, trembling in her pretty pink dress, trying to breathe through the memories choking her.

He stepped closer to her and gathered her in his arms.

'You are beautiful, Elena,' he whispered softly, intimately in her ears.

'Am I, Damon? Am I really?' she asked artlessly, childishly, still hiding her face in his chest.

'You're the prettiest among them all…'

* * *

Elijah seldom attended Alaric's monthly parties, but this time, he found himself leaning against the bar, his eyes trained on the door.

They were almost an hour late.

Was she not coming?

He sipped his whiskey, ignoring the women trying to get his attention. He only had eyes for one woman and he wasn't sure if she was coming or not.

He felt a little lightheaded, not completely drunk, but yes, he could feel the buzz. He'd started downing the booze the moment he'd stepped inside the door. He spied Alaric standing in the far corner of the room with a woman, all pretext of concentration on his face, but his eyes, they darted regularly to the door.

Like Elijah, he too was waiting for someone.

Poor idiot. Elijah shook his head. Salvatore was as straight as they came.

His eyes were staring at the bottom of his glass, but he knew the moment she came in, hanging on Salvatore's arm for everyone to see. His hands curled into fists and he raised his head to look at her.

His breath was knocked out of his chest.

She wore a powder pink silk georgette full-length dress, the material so sheer that all her curves were outlined. The strategically stitched mesh of lace protected her modesty.

 _Barely._

He could see the outline of her breasts, the nipples hidden beneath the lurex embroidered tulle. The neckline of the dress dipped to her navel, giving a sensual glimpse of flesh that was playing peek-a-boo with the dress. The deep slits to the thigh sexualized the dress in a way that Elijah found seductive. Her face was bare except for the red on her lips and her hair—curled and left free to frame her face and hang down her back—made her look older than she was.

The color of the dress she wore was so similar to the one he and Katherine had forced her to wear years ago.

He swallowed the bad taste the memory invoked in his mouth.

Salvatore's eyes didn't leave her face, not even for a second, and neither did her hand relinquished its hold on him.

Salvatore twirled her once on the way to meet their host and the back of the dress made Elijah's throat dry.

It dipped dangerously low to reveal the supple curve of her spine and it stopped just above the curve of her ass.

How could Salvatore bear to let her wear something so revealing out in public? Did he not care that men looking at her could think of nothing but her body beneath this dress? Was he not bothered by the fact that these men would pleasure themselves in the privacy of their bathrooms after they left this party with her image behind their closed lids and her name on their lips?

Was Salvatore so indifferent to the fact that she was essentially parading herself in a nightgown in front of strangers?

He signaled the man behind the counter to fill his empty glass with vodka. He gulped the liquid in one go. He signaled for a refill.

As the party slowly progressed, he continued his drinking and obsessive staring.

At one point when she danced with one of his execs, he wanted to snatch her away from the arms of the man whose eyes often strayed below her face.

He wanted to shake her and cover her up.

He also wanted to pull her in his arms and then peel back the fabric that clung to her body and run his fingers over the curves.

She'd whispered her fantasies to him once, all those years ago.

He wanted to whisper all he wanted to do with her right in her ears before he licked the shell of her ear that sported a diamond drop.

Bloody hell! He slammed his glass on the bar.

Salvatore was one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

His eyes never once strayed away from her. He watched her flit from the arms of one man to another and he seethed. Oh, how he burned.

When they laid their hands on her skin, when they held her close and inched their fingers on her bare back, he wanted to howl with rage.

Salvatore was looking at her with a bemused expression on his face. Was the man an idiot?

Finally, she left all her admirers behind to stand in Salvatore's embrace. He wanted to gut the kid. She'd spent the seven years in forgetting him. He, on the other hand, had spent the time dreaming of her.

She whispered something in Salvatore's ear and the man shook his head, his expression one of denial. She pulled him by hand to the door that opened up in a corridor that would take the person to the famed gardens of Alaric's estate.

With the last sip, he left his seat to follow her.

* * *

 **Your reviews kept me warm and happy. So, what do you think about this chapter? And the reference to "Madmen", my bestie is crazy about the show. There was a time when we used to have philosophical discussions about "Madmen". Anyways, I'm watching Train to Busan right now. To all you zombie flick lovers, it's a fuck awesome movie. Do review. Loads of love to all of you.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

Unlike the flashy lights of the party, the gardens were quieter. It was a dark night; stars were aplenty in the sky.

 _Where had they gone?_

His eyes automatically went to the tall intricate hedges that were Alaric's pride and joy.

Had Salvatore brought her out to fuck her beneath the starry sky? His fingers curled into his palm involuntary.

His feet followed the stone path that led to the mouth of the hedges.

Had he not been drunk, he would've never thought about doing what he was going to do. But alcohol not only lowered your inhibitions, it also brought forth those dark desires that you kept hidden in your heart—shielded from everyone's gaze except your own.

Elena had become his obsession, one that he couldn't let go.

Two steps inside and a body stumbled against him. The smell of rose teased his senses and his hands glided over the woman's bare arms.

She raised her head and he was struck anew by her eyes—by Elena's dark brown eyes.

She pushed him away the moment she realized against whom she'd fallen. Her face was indifferent, bereft of any expression, but her eyes were turbulent.

'Elena,' he murmured.

'Elijah,' she said curtly and started to walk away.

'Not so fast.' His hand shot out and he grabbed her by her arm, turning her to face him.

'What's the meaning of this?' she fumed.

'I want to talk.'

She shrugged his hold and stepped back few steps, putting distance between them. 'So, talk.'

'Not here,' he said and he took her by her hand, walking out of the hedges to head in the direction of a copse of Magnolia trees.

'Where are you taking me?' she struggled against him but he held fast. He didn't need any eavesdroppers for their conversation.

He let her go once they were behind the thicket of trees, ensconced in the smell of the flowers and earth, the warm touch of the breeze on their skins.

'What is the meaning of this, Elijah?' she asked, her voice so matter of fact, so indifferent that he ached for the girl who'd begged him to love her.

Could she not beg him now? Or command him to love her? Or share all her fantasies with him like she'd once done?

He'd realized in the span of seven years that despite being a proud man, Elijah Mikaelson could go on his knees for Elena Gilbert.

He often dreamt about it. Dreamt about her forgiveness and his peace, about his obsession and need. It was wrong to want her so, want her so desperately that he felt the urgency in his very bones. It was a depravity to desire her like he did.

He thought about her all the time. How he would take her against the wall, how sweetly she would cling to him, how her cunt would grip him like a vice and empty him of his essence, his very self.

'Elijah?'

'Can you forgive me, Elena?' he asked plainly. Her face became pale and her eyes, they stared everywhere, at everything but him.

'Elena?'

'Forgiveness?' she jeered. 'What for, Mr. Mikaelson?'

'For cruelty, for heartlessness, and for breaking your heart.'

She laughed at that. Head thrown back, her throat moving, Elijah wanted to press a kiss at the bottom of the column, suck at it so that it would darken. 'Presumptuous, aren't you, Mr. Mikaelson?'

'Astute, Elena, never presumptuous.'

'You didn't…break my heart. You broke me,' she confessed softly, a smile flitting on her lips. 'You weren't someone I'd fallen for on a whim. I was a child, Elijah. But my love wasn't that of a child. It wasn't unaware of your flaws.'

'Elena—'

'No. You wanted to talk, didn't you? You wanted to apologize? What did you think? That your few words would undo everything? Damon glued me back, Mr. Mikaelson. He did it by sheer will because even he couldn't find all the pieces of me. He fashioned me into the woman who stands in front of you, who doesn't give a flying fuck about your apology, who wants to walk away this instant, but she's too embroiled in past to actually do so!'

'I was a fool,' he said, his acceptance too late, too little.

'That you were along with being a sadistic brute.'

'You can't forgive me, can you?' he asked.

'Did you forgive me then, Elijah? Did you forgive and forget my attempts at seduction? No, Elijah. You punished me. You and Katherine—you forced me to drape myself in that peach colored dress. You forced me to smile and pretend that I was happy. Do you know I kept chewing the inside of my mouth lest a sob slip out? Did you know that, Elijah?'

'No. I didn't.'

'I was young. I was naïve. You and me—we had shared years of familiarity before I came on to you. Did you not remember all that, Elijah? Did you not remember the girl who thought the world of you, who hero-worshipped you?' She took a deep breath and stepped out of her heels. The cool blades of grass tickled the bottom of her feet. She made her way to the nearest tree and proceeded to fold herself on the ground with her back propped against the trunk, not caring that it was going to leave stain on her dress.

'I'd always liked the little girl who used to trail behind me,' he started before sitting against the tree opposite to her. 'That little girl grew up in front of my eyes. I'd always loved that little girl. She was one of the people who kept me from giving into my workaholic tendencies. We had this ritual—the little girl and I—we always went for ice creams on Monday when I used to pick her up from school. She would choose chocolate-chip mint, but demand that I let her taste my plain vanilla one after she'd gobbled up hers as fast as she could.

Elena laughed for she too remembered the little girl.

'And then she grew up. One day when I wasn't looking, when I wasn't paying attention, she left her pig-tails and her imperious attitude behind.'

'People have to grow up, Elijah. One day or the other, they grow up.'

He was pensive, perhaps lost in the memories of old, when everything had not been such a mess, when she'd been innocent and he'd not carried the culpability of his deeds on his shoulders, hurting beneath the weight.

'You were sixteen. Your mother was to take you shopping, but Isobel got a call that day about the gala her foundation was organizing. She'd to rush out. I took you shopping that day, do you remember?'

She did remember. She remembered the dresses she'd wrapped herself in, walking out of that changing room with her heart in her mouth every time, shy of his lingering gaze. She remembered his laugh, his teasing remarks. She remembered the rain that had pelted them the moment they'd exited the shop. She remembered running, her hand clasped tightly in his, panting and resting against a wall.

She remembered how she'd thought that his eyes had flitted a time too many to her lips.

'Yes…'

'Do you remember the rain, Elena?' he asked softly.

She wanted to cry. Why was he scratching over the scabbed wounds? Remember the rain? When she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the dry earth after the first few drops of rain had wet it.

'Your wet hair had been plastered around your face. The rain had washed away the red of your lips leaving it bare, leaving it pink. The drops of moisture had clung to your lashes and your blue dress had been plastered against your golden skin…'

She'd looked at him from under her lashes, shy and uncertain, trembling in her skin because of the feelings that had been coursing in her heart. She'd wanted to feel his warm embrace, his soft kiss on her lips. She'd wanted to twine around him like a vine, holding him, caressing him.

She'd wanted him to move closer. She'd wanted him to bridge the distance between them.

'I wanted to kiss you then…' he professed; the trees, earth, grass, air, and Elena the only witness to his shameful secret, the secret that had nearly destroyed him.

'Kiss me?' she breathed, her hands shaking, her heart thudding, aching in her chest.

He'd wanted to kiss her?

Then, when she'd been sixteen?

'I wanted to pull you close, tug close to my heart and never let go. I wanted to taste the rain on your cheeks, on your lips. I wanted to feel your fingers in my hair, your breath on my cheeks. I wanted your legs around my waist, your desires whispered in my ears…'

In this darkness, maybe it was easy for him to reveal everything he'd kept hidden within himself. But it wasn't easy for her to sit there and listen. He'd punished her for something that he too had wanted.

'Why?' she asked. 'Why did you do it then? Why did you force me to stand and smile for people while you said "I do"?'

He averted his face in answer. Her eyes—they cut him anew, injured him all over again when she looked at him with such profound distaste.

She crawled to where he was sitting, her hands smeared with soil, her dress no more the siren's outfit.

'Why?' she keened, her fingers pressed against his chest—soiled fingers that left a bit of earth on his clothes.

'You were a young girl. I was a grown man,' he gritted. 'My desires were deplorable. You were just a girl, and my thoughts when it came to you were perverse. I wanted to consume everything you had, Elena. I wanted all of you. It was my cross to bear. It was my shame. Mine.'

'Shame? One word from your lips and I would have left everything behind. Had you gently laid your lips on mine—I would have followed you to the ends of earth. Why couldn't you love me, Elijah? Was I so unlovable?'

'I am seventeen years older than you, Elena! You grew up in front of my eyes. To lust after you, to desire you—you cannot imagine the hell I found myself in.'

'You and I, we don't share blood.'

'But we do share memories. I have carried you in my arms. I've sang you to sleep. Can you imagine what it was like for me? Can you, Elena? I was aware of you. In any room I found myself in, my eyes searched for you. Your thoughts were often at the forefront of my mind. Can you imagine what it was like for me? To pretend that I didn't desire you? To pretend that you were the same little girl? That when boys looked at you, I wanted to hide you from the world?'

She let herself lie against him, her head on his chest, her arms around him. There was a solace in this misery that they both shared. She was no longer alone in her grief, in her love that she'd always kept hidden.

'I loved you so,' she whispered softly. 'At seventeen, love was not being able to look you in the eye. Love was blushing when we accidentally brushed against each other, it was looking at you and feeling as if I was going to faint. Pathetic, isn't it?'

His arms tentatively enclosed her in his embrace. 'Love was every smile that you deigned to bestow on me. Love was your idealistic thoughts, your artless feelings. Love was your naivety, your innocence, the blush that stained your cheeks. It was a dream that I often saw—one just before waking up—of the sweet meeting of our lips.'

'Love? You mean lust, surely? For I was a passing fancy, wasn't I, Elijah? Someone taking somebody's place, someone who would be replaced as soon as your gaze befell on more worthier, prettier specimen?'

Startled, his eyes roamed over her face to finally rest on her lips. 'Passing fancy? Then why do I still dream of you, Elena?'

She pushed against his chest, her arms no longer holding him. He let her go. 'Dream of me? You are my nightmare, Elijah.'

'And among my dreams, you are the most sadistic one—one that you realize is a mere dream when you wake from your sleep. Can you stop being that dream, Elena? One I've to wake up from?'

She didn't answer him. She'd nothing to say.

'Apologies are useless things, aren't they, Elena? They give you hope that maybe, maybe what you did can be undone by uttering few sincere, heartfelt words. They are cruel, aren't they, the apologies?'

'Are they? Or are you the cruel one, Elijah?'

His lips touched hers softly in reply. Bewildered, she moved back, broke the tenuous connection of lips that had scalded her.

She touched her mouth. It felt warm as if a single press of his lips had leached the cold from the surface. She looked at his face, the shadows and the light, his dark eyes glittering in the night, the secrets beckoning her close.

 _She'd once wondered what he would taste like._

He tasted of whiskey and heartbreak, bitterness and love gone stale. Those were all the things she tasted of.

Would it be bad if she kissed him once more, if she lost herself in the symphony of teeth, tongue, and lips?

Her answer must have been evident on her face, for in next moment, he pulled her close again, cradled her to his chest as he laid his mouth on hers, feeding his taste to her and drinking her in return. She buried one of her hands in his hair, and another clung tightly to the lapels of his jacket.

He held her like a lover, embrace passionate and gentle in turns, mouth alternating between cherishing and plundering. His tongue nudged her lips to open, and when they did, he tasted her mouth. Her tongue touched his tentatively; almost terrified of the spell he seemed to be under. Would he push her away in next few moments? Would he hurt her again?

He cajoled her tongue to twine with his, his arm tightening around her, his hand losing itself in the soft mass of her hair. Her fingers gripped a fistful of his hair; her lips grew bold, seeking. He wound her hair in his fist and tugged her head back. His lips bit at her lip, and left her mouth to wander to the column of her neck. It stung, his bite—a reminder that even in his ardor, in his gentility, he was capable of hurting her.

Was she bleeding?

She must have been, for he came back for her lips, sucked at her mouth, perhaps tasting her blood—the callous, suave vampire.

'Do you love me now, Elena?' he demanded, a speck of red still on his lips.

Love?

She'd burned in it, with it, till nothing had remained.

Love?

What was it?

What was love anymore?

With a sob, she broke free, wiped her mouth at the back of her hand and looked at him from behind the veil of tears. He didn't appear monstrous; he just looked like a man.

How deceptive this moisture in her eyes was.

She got up on her shaking legs, her trembling frame yearning for warmth, yearning for the comfort of Damon's touch, his presence.

Damon. Oh, her Damon!

'Did you love me when rain drenched the dry earth, when it made my blue dress stick to my skin, Elijah?'

He lowered his head, perhaps in defeat, perhaps in his shame. His familiar, comfortable shame. She walked away from the bower of trees, dress no longer soft pink, no longer enchanting.

She looked haunted, her eyes once again lifeless like they'd been all those years ago…

* * *

 **Love and pain go hand in hand for some people! Anywhoo, what are you guys up to these days? I am thinking about cooking noodles for dinner right now.**

 **Review and I'll let you taste some. I'm chef extraordinaire when it comes to noodles…**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**

Damon looked around. Green met his eye. Elena had led him to the centre of the hedge maze, and then she'd left him sitting here. Soft grass carpeted the surface beneath his shoes; vines with new leaves climbed the sides of the walls of green. To his right, a small marble fountain gurgled, and now and again, few drops of water would break away from the monotony of repeated rising and falling to perch upon a single stem of rose.

It was fairly dark, only the moon to illuminate the things that were infinitely beautiful in this shadowy existence.

Where had Elena run off to?

With his mind made to seek her out and make a polite exit from this place, Damon was about to vacate his marble bench when Alaric stumbled into his view.

In the soft illumination which was partly composed of half remembered shadows, Alaric Saltzman was…beautiful. His eyes appeared bluer than they did in the light of the day, and on his lips played a crooked smile. He leaned against the leafy support, arms locked in front of his chest, head slightly tilted and eyes…eyes staring at Damon.

It was unnerving to be someone's object of curiosity.

Damon cleared his throat to dispel the strange stillness that hummed on his skin, this awareness that was slowly peeling off the bravado he projected for the world. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could no longer stare back at Alaric, so he lowered his eyes and made an attempt to get up.

'Don't leave on my account,' Alaric muttered as he peeled himself away from the side of the viridescent wall to come ambling in his direction.

Damon shifted at the edge of the stone slab to make space for the man, the corners digging softly into his flesh.

Alaric took his seat with a sigh. His eyes closed, head bowed back, and he raised face towards the limitless night sky. He smelled of expensive champagne, bitter oranges, lemon and…jasmine? Damon frowned in concentration, not noticing that Alaric's eyes were open and he'd turned his head to look at him.

'Something bothering you?' he drawled.

Damon was startled out of his musings. 'No…no.'

'Where's your girlfriend?'

'She left me here,' he replied, amused still at Elena's antics. She never failed to entertain him.

'So, you don't like parties, Damon?'

'No, I'm no longer the party aficionado I once used to be.'

'I've heard some wild tales. Is it true that you convinced Caroline Forbes to wear a flaming dress to one of the charity events that your family organizes?'

'I was going through my Hunger Games phase!'

Alaric laughed at the glib response. Despite the often reserved persona Damon Salvatore presented to the world, there were still the traces of hellion he'd once been, or so Alaric had heard.

'Tales of your depravity still do rounds at the Mystic Falls High,' Alaric remarked.

 _Depravity? Who knew of his debase desires? Had someone guessed? Did someone know who he really was?_

Suddenly, he was fearful of this man, this stranger who affected him in ways he'd never let anyone affect him.

'What is it? You look pale.'

'Nothing,' Damon lied. If he valued his sanity and his reputation, he needed to run away from Alaric's presence. Alaric had a way of making Damon unravel.

Silence stretched between them, both unwilling to break it, or maybe it was just Damon. He started getting up when Alaric's hand shot out and grabbed his arm to tug him back to his seating position again.

'Are you so eager to run away?' Alaric asked lazily, an impish smile flitting on his lips. Oh, it seemed that Alaric had one too many flutes of champagne.

'You're drunk, aren't you?'

'Me? Moi? I managed to imbibe bottles of whiskey and still walk in a straight line in my youth, Salvatore. Oops, sorry, Damon.'

Damon smiled at the childish display. 'Your youth? You aren't that old.'

'Oh, but I am. Older than you. You're five years too young,' he said, his voice melancholic.

Damon didn't know what to say? Should he offer words of false cheer, or some remark that men often used in such situations to display camaraderie.

'Your eyes are of such curious color,' Alaric remarked wistfully.

'They are?'

'Yes. I can't describe this shade of blue. I could compare it to the color of the sky, to the first light that is slightly touched by the gold of first rays of sun, but it feels too little. It feels as if my words won't do justice to the color that has often haunted my sleep after I met you,' Alaric confessed softly.

Damon sat frozen as Alaric looked at him, looked at the face that was not displaying a casual smirk, which was bare, naked in its vulnerability. Was this Damon the one who came in his dreams, this man with dark secrets in his eyes, with a smile that was as sad as it was beautiful, that just broke his heart a little?

'Thank you,' Damon said after a moment, honest in a moment of weakness.

'Do you love her?' Alaric asked.

'Elena? Yes, I do. More than I've ever loved anyone else,' he replied.

'Does she love you?'

Damon took a moment to answer. 'Yes, she does. Less than she thinks, more than I believe...'

They grew quiet after such candid admittances. Maybe, they were done with honesty for the day. Or maybe, they weren't.

'Why did you run away that day?' Alaric asked hesitantly. He talked far too coherently to be a man buzzed up on champagne. Damon knew what day he was talking about, but admitting his weakness would insinuate something he never wanted Alaric to realize.

'What day?' he asked, voice light, full of pretend nonchalance.

'You know,' Alaric said quietly.

 _I don't bite. Not unless you ask me to._

'I don't,' he lied.

'Yes, you do. Did I shock you? Disgust you?' Alaric prodded.

Disgust? How could Alaric disgust him? He was… Damon didn't know how to describe Alaric. There were so many shades to this man. Damon had seen his careless cruelty when he'd witnessed hysterical Vicky begging him for scrapes of his affection. He'd walked away without looking back. Damon had also seen his kindness. Hidden behind one of the pillars in parking, he'd seen Alaric carry Vicky back to his car, gentle in his words, careful in his hold. He'd seen Alaric smiling, frowning, his eyes narrow in anger, gaze absently outside the windows of his office, lost in thoughts. But Damon didn't know how to sum up Alaric in one word, one sentence. Alaric made him feel a lot of things, but disgust was not one of them.

Should he tell him that? But then wouldn't Alaric know…that he was…that he…? He could lie and be cruel. _Be his father. Save his face._

He flinched at the mental image. The prospect of wounding someone like his father did made him want to retch. No, he wasn't his father despite what his old man liked to state over and over again.

 _He wasn't Giuseppe Salvatore._

'Damon?'

'No, you didn't,' he answered carefully.

'Shock you or disgust you?'

'Both.'

Alaric beamed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

He wished he could be like Alaric. So confident, so sure of who he was.

'I kept waiting for a legal notice,' Alaric whispered confidentially. 'Every time Vicky opened the door of my room, I was crossing my fingers beneath by desk, hoping against all hopes that it wasn't a legal document of any sort.'

'I wasn't going to slap you with a sexual harassment suit for…'

'…for coming onto you?' Alaric teased.

'Yes. That.'

'Can I tell you something, Damon?' Alaric took his hands in his, his fingers moving softly over the skin at the back on his palms. He broke out in goosebumps. No one had ever made him feel this way.

No one.

His mind was shouting at him to withdraw his hand, to break this spell Alaric had cast over them, but his heart had a mind of its own. His hands stayed where they were, clasped securely within Alaric's hold.

'I like you…'

Damon's heart stopped.

Men had often caressed his face in the dark of night. They'd murmured filthy suggestions in his ears. They had forced him on his knees, made him take their cocks in his mouth. They'd often left him black and blue, grabbed a fistful of his hair and made him cry out. They'd bit his flesh, humiliated him, called him names while they pounded in him.

None of them had ever liked him.

No one had ever said to Damon Salvatore that they liked him except for Elena.

 _Alaric liked him?_

Alaric was looking at him with that half bemused, half worried gaze of his, as if he didn't know what Damon was thinking, or how he was going to react. It was heady, this feeling of befuddling a man who looked like he knew everything.

Yes, Damon realized, this right here was what being ecstatic felt like. This intoxication that whispered of an attraction, which stroke his skin with its phantom tendrils and sang in his veins.

Oh, the joys of liking someone!

'Damon…' Alaric called out softly. 'Do I disgust you now?'

'No,' Damon answered instantly, too quickly.

Alaric's resulting smile was dazzling. Had Damon ever noticed how errant locks of Alaric's hair fell on his forehead? Had he ever noticed the blonde in the brunette strands?

Almost in a trance, he withdrew one of his hands from Alaric's loose grip to touch the wisps hanging above his eyes. Alaric looked boyish like this. Appearance slightly disheveled, hair not swept up and made to stay there by copious application of hair-gel, eyes twinkling, lips curved in the faintest of smiles.

'You look like an angel…'

Damon's hand stilled mid-motion.

 _Your mother said you look like an angel. She was wrong, wasn't she, boy? You're nothing but a damn sissy!_

'Damon?' Alaric frowned. He moved to touch Damon's face, but Damon recoiled.

He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to forget the words his father had often thrown at him on the dinner table.

When he raised his head, Alaric was looking at him in worry.

'I have to go,' Damon said gently, a tad too sadly.

He got up and made his way towards the narrow opening that would take him away from this quiet, secret place that he'd shared with Alaric.

He paused before making his way out. 'Alaric?' he called out.

Alaric raised his head which had been bowed just moments ago after Damon had shrunk away from his touch.

'See you in the office…'

Before Damon turned away to go back to Elena, he witnessed the slow smile that flitted on Alaric's lips.

 _Yes, he wasn't his father._

 _He would never be._

'See you around, Damon!' came Alaric's reply, a bit too loud, a bit too happy.

Damon Salvatore, for the first time in his life walked away from a guy without feeling dirty. He walked away with his heart which was a little too quick, a smile which was a bit too bright.

He walked away from Alaric with a spring in his step which had not been there earlier…

* * *

 **All you lovely ladies who confessed to liking Ramen, you're welcome to share my bowl of noodles any time you like. Any K-drama fans out there among you? I just finished watching Hwarang. Now, I'm on to Orange Marmalade. Just finished Helen Hoang's "The Kiss Quotient". It was a nice read. You guys can check it out if you want. And thanks a ton for the lovely reviews you people left me. I've read each one word for word for the umpteenth time while I was confined to my bed for last couple of days. Read and review, peeps. See you soon with another chapter. Peace and love. Loads of it.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8**

She'd remained lost in her thoughts on their way back home. Damon had asked repeatedly, but Elena had shrugged off his concerns.

What was troubling her?

What was she thinking about?

Had that bastard Mikaelson done anything?

'Elena, what is it?' he asked again as exited the bathroom, towel drying his hair. She was sitting in front of the mirror, still clad in her ruined dress, hair let down, tendrils hanging limply at her back, partly hiding her face.

She stared at herself in the mirror, eyes unblinking, cold…

'Elena?'

'He said he desired me…' she whispered brokenly.

'Mikaelson?' He dropped the towel on the floor as he ambled to where she sat.

'When I was sixteen, he desired me then…'

He was standing at her back now, his hands atop her shoulders. She looked at him through the mirror, pleading to understand.

'Why does it matter, Elena?' he asked softly. 'What is the use of remembering and hurting yourself all over again?'

'How could he do it, Damon?' she cried. 'How could he love me and do what he did?'

'Maybe he didn't know what else he could do?' Damon offered tentatively, noticing how her eyes widened at the implication, how her breath hitched.

'Damon?' There were hints of betrayal in her gasp.

'You were a girl, Elena. He was a man. What he felt was unforgivable in the eyes of society, in the eyes of his own moral conscience,' he said gently.

'Did he need to be so cruel, Damon? When he was turning me down, did he need to be so callous?'

'Did you give him any other choice?' Damon retorted.

She looked at him now, appraising him, noticing the signs she'd been oblivious to while she'd been lost in her own hazy recollections of past.

His eyes…they were no longer the same eyes she'd seen this morning. There was a curious light in those blue orbs, some strange buoyancy as if the shadows that permanently resided there had been temporarily dispelled.

'Did you kiss him?' she hissed. 'Did your mouth cling to his as you whimpered your need?'

'Elena?'

'Answer me, Damon. Did you kiss him? Your Alaric?' She left her seat to come stand in front of him, her eyes accusing, mouth twisted in contempt.

He lowered his gaze.

'Did I give him a chance? You ask me this, Damon? You? Do you not remember anything?'

'I remember your weakness,' he growled, raising his head. 'I remember the wraith you were, pining for him, crying for him. Shedding tears for a man who didn't deserve anything from you!' She flinched at the reminder.

'Love, love, love,' he singsonged. 'Oh, I love Elijah! Oh, how will I survive now that he's no longer in my life? My heart, how it hurts. My poor, poor heart. Why did you do it, Elijah?'

She stared at him in horror. His high pitched voice reminded her of her seventeen year old self.

'You think you loved him? How did you know you loved him?'

'Damon—'

'No, Elena. No. He was your first crush. You were attracted to him. You fell for an idea. He wasn't an idea but a man. And why won't he be ashamed of his desire for you? You were not a woman yet. You were still a girl, a girl he'd seen grow up in front of his very eyes!' he raged.

She could do nothing but listen.

'Seven years, Elena, seven fucking years. Don't you think it's long enough to let go of this sadness you've kept safe in your heart? Don't you think it's time you moved on?'

'I-I—'

'Don't give me that tripe about moving on. Yes, he was a bastard! Yes, what he did was, frankly, stupid. But you aren't the blameless party in all this mess. You got in your head that you loved him and in guise of some misguided plot to save him from your aunt, you tried to…to confess your love? What did you think? That he would actually say, "Elena, now that you tell me, suddenly I find myself in love with you too. Let me cancel my wedding and let me confess how much I love you. And then we will get married and live happily forever after?" Did you expect something like that?'

'No. No, I didn't,' she replied plainly, standing there without her armor, defenseless.

'Then what did you want from him? What did you need?' he asked tiredly.

'Kindness. Compassion. I needed from him everything that he'd given me prior to my confession. I needed understanding. I needed him to not see me differently,' she said at last. 'I knew he didn't love me despite what he says now. I knew what I was doing wasn't right, but it was the only way I knew how to save him from being a laughing stock. He'd always been there for me, Damon. For once, I wanted to be there for him…'

'By trying to seduce him? By whispering your fantasies in his ears?'

She did avert her gaze in shame at that accusation. 'Did you know Katherine had aborted his child? I knew he would be angry after what I was going to do, but I never thought that he would forget he had a heart in the first place. I wanted his forgiveness, Damon. I wanted him to tell me, "Elena, sweetheart you're confused about loving me, but I believe you." If not that then, "Elena, you're young, you'll get over me, but yes, I don't love Katherine." I needed anything than the apparent trust he had on Katherine, than that emotion he labeled as love…'

'Such unreasonable desires, but then, when has human heart been reasonable,' Damon remarked.

'Yes, he was my insanity, my delirium. He was my rebellion, my obstinacy, my goddamn pride. Maybe I didn't love him. Maybe I had tricked myself into believing that I did, but he was the one who dragged out one incident and made it into a story. He was the stone faced stranger who forced me into that peach dress, the dress that you stripped off me to drown your misery in my body…' she whispered shakily.

He'd gone white, eyes frozen on her face, frame trembling.

'Do you remember the night, Damon? Do you remember the champagne and our tears? Do you remember my sobs and your quiet whimpers? Do you remember vomiting on me, Damon? Do you?'

'Don't,' he snapped.

'Do you remember being dragged into the shower, my hands washing away the grime on your skin, lathering soap to scrub your skin?'

'Elena, don't,' he pleaded. 'Please, don't.'

'Why? Does it sicken you now? Do the memories disgust you? Has his kiss made you forget who we once were, Damon?'

'No,' he choked.

 _Elena was sobbing, curled up in a ball on her bed. The festivities were still continuing in the other side of the town. She'd escaped from her Aunt's reception as soon as she'd got her chance, running away while her parents were looking the other way._

 _What had she done?_

 _Let alone save Elijah, she'd made sure that he would no longer even deign to talk to her. She'd driven him out of her life. So much for her love!_

 _The knock on her door startled her._

 _As far as she knew, everyone was still at the party. Had someone seen her running away? Had mum and dad sent anyone to bring her back kicking and screaming?_

 _She ignored the sound and burrowed under her sheets, tears running askew on her cheeks._

 _The second set of knocks were more persistent._

' _Go away,' she shouted tearfully._

' _Can't…' came the instant reply._

 _Damon? What was Damon doing here?_

 _She crawled out of her bed to open the door, and there he stood, her best friend—Damon Salvatore. He was swaying on his feet, his eyes swollen and red as if he'd been crying too._

 _She pulled him into the room and shut the door._

 _He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his frame shaking slightly._

' _What did he do?' she asked, forgetting her own misery for his pain was far apparent than hers._

 _He refused to answer her, choosing to clasp her tightly in his embrace. He smelled of Bourbon and rain and Damon. What had his bastard father done again? She didn't like Mr. Salvatore. He was one of those mean, prejudiced people who liked making everyone's life around him completely miserable._

 _She pushed him back to look at his face again. There were no marks. She checked his knuckles, and thankfully, they too were injury free. Her hands moved over his back, and as expected he flinched._

 _Her poor Damon!_

' _Strip,' she ordered, trying to walk away to hunt for pain-relief ointment and bandages, knowing that Mr. Salvatore delighted in blooding his back._

 _She tried moving away, but he pulled her close. Tears shined on his cheeks, misery peeked from his eyes._

' _What did he do, Damon?' Her voice climbed an octave higher. He was scaring her._

' _Elena, he-he—' he couldn't continue and he broke down. Her Damon, her strong Damon who'd never once let anyone see his scars, his injuries that he received at the hands of his father. He sobbed in her arms, leaning on her, holding her as if she could keep him from breaking apart. She bowed under his weight, and subsequently sank at the foot of the bed, holding him in her arms._

 _They stayed like that till his tears dried on his skin and on hers too, till his whimpers were no more. She pressed a kiss on his forehead. He looked up at her face from her lap, his eyes rapt in determination. His fingers traced the dried tracks of salt, lingering at her cheeks._

' _He's a fool, Elena,' Damon whispered, raising his head to kiss the underside of her face._

' _Damon?' His fingers tangled in her unbound hair and his lips caressed the edge of her face. 'Who won't love you?' he said desperately. 'Who won't love you?'_

 _Was he comforting her or lying to himself? She let him place kisses all over her face, gentle reminders of his hell and her broken heart._

 _When he pressed his mouth against hers, there was a certain desperate determination in his touch. He kissed her and she felt nothing._

 _Was he feeling something?_

 _It was so empty, the physical intimacy in which he was trying to lose himself, and she was letting him because it was better than remembering everything that had happened with Elijah and Katherine._

 _He maneuvered her to lie on the soft carpet, covering her body with his. He continued his touches, she returned them absently._

 _How hungry he seemed, how eager to prove that she attracted him, that he desired her. Was the lie holding up in his head?_

 _Why was she letting him do this? He would hate himself once he finished. Maybe she was too selfish to stop him, too greedy to welcome him to the folds of melancholia to keep her company._

 _He divested her of her dress, that wretched dress._

 _She slipped off the shirt from his torso. He was beautiful, her Damon. All sinewy muscles and pale skin, marred by fading bruises. Horizontal thin scars mapped his back, dried blood on the edges of some cuts. Her fingers were gentle when they moved over his injuries. She pressed him to her breast, wishing desperately to impart some of her fading warmth._

 _His hands were a little too aggressive when they moved over her curves, grazed her breasts and pinched her nipples._

 _He pressed his lower body against hers, grinding furiously._

 _He wasn't hard, still not aroused._

 _She looked at him, looked into his eyes, into his very soul. She knew what he needed. Even when he won't ever be able to voice what he needed in this moment, she knew. She also knew what Mr. Salvatore had tried to do._

 _She closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for what she was about to do. She'd never been with a guy before._

 _She'd wanted to do this with Elijah, hadn't she?_

 _Her fingers traced the planes of his chest. He shivered beneath her touch._

 _Her hands wandered below his stomach, tentative touch trying to be brazen. He closed his eyes, his mouth pursed in a straight line. Was she hurting him? She caressed him, his soft flesh between his legs. He whimpered._

 _She continued until he was how he wanted to be._

 _Hard and ready to plunge in her body._

 _Ready to forget the words his father had always hurtled at him._

 _Ready to erase the vile touches and memories from his head._

 _He braced himself on his arms over her. What were her eyes saying to him? What did he see in her face?_

 _Did he see desire? Did he see her yearning for his flesh rubbing against hers?_

 _What did he see?_

 _He closed his eyes and before she could think anything else, he entered her, in one stroke he buried himself in her flesh, breaking past her innocence._

 _She bit her mouth from inside lest the scream escape past her lips. The pain was blinding, burning. He stilled._

 _He stayed still for moments; maybe he could've stayed like that for eternity, relieved not to force himself to further his humiliation. But she gave him no such reprieve._

' _Move,' she husked, her fingers mindful of his injured back._

 _He started slowly, maybe in consideration to her comfort. But she grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of his neck, tugging painfully, forcing him to quicken his pace._

 _She knew, the more he lingered, more would be his guilt._

 _Soon, he was railing between her legs, his hands leaving palm sized prints on her thighs and ass. He'd not opened his eyes once since he'd entered her; fearful of the accusation he might see on her face. When he came, he froze over her, his back curving, face pinched, tendons of his arms standing in stark relief._

 _It passed, his moment of temporary unawareness and he slumped over her, face buried between her breasts, flaccid cock still inside her body._

' _Damon?'_

 _She felt something warm on her chest, and rancid smell assailed her nose._

 _She gingerly shifted his head._

 _He'd vomited…_

She stepped close and wrapped herself around him. 'Such pitiable creature I am, aren't I, Damon? Trying to hurt you for trying to be happy?'

He clutched her close, breathed in the scent of her hair. 'Such miserable creature I'd been to seek comfort in your flesh…'

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Alaric is a good man. I am glad that he likes you.'

'I'm sorry too,' he said tenderly, fingers pushing away the tendrils from her forehead. 'I tried to oversimplify your pain.'

'Tell me about your run-in with Alaric?' she asked as she pulled him by hand towards the bed.

'Don't you wanna strip out of your clothes and probably take a shower?' he pointed, thoroughly amused at her absentmindedness.

She looked at her dress, the grass stains dry and mud caking the hem. 'Crap,' she muttered as she dashed to the bathroom...

* * *

 **I am too scared about this chapter. As for whether this story is Elejah or Delena, trust me, I too am quite confused despite the fact that I've written the complete story. So, I'm listening EXO's "Ko ko Bop"—a song you'll get hooked to if you try it out. All those beautiful guys dancing, I think I'm gonna need a lot of cold showers in future. So, how was your week?**

 **Read and review, people.**

 **Peace and love.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9**

'Damon says it's high time I let go of my sadness,' she remarked casually, her eyes still at the page in front of her.

'What does he know?' Elijah sighed as he sat beside her. The golden brown leaves danced in the soft breeze, tendrils of her hair sticking to her forehead. 'You're entitled to it as I deserve my guilt, my shame.'

The crinkling of the page was the only answer he received as she thumbed through the book. 'Do you believe in divine judgment?' she asked after some time when the silence between them grew too sharp.

'I've been at the receiving end of it,' Elijah mused self-deprecatingly. 'So, I do know what it looks like. Did it make you feel good? Did it provide any measure of comfort?'

'What?' she enquired knowingly, pretending she didn't know what he was referring to.

'My punishment. Did it comfort your heart when you heard how Katherine betrayed me? I wanted you to find some solace in my misery. I wanted you to gloat at my misfortune.'

'Why?'

'Maybe, it would have lessened my guilt, eased my conscience. Or maybe, I'm just a masochist.' He smiled ruefully.

'By the time the news of your misfortune reached me, I no longer cared. I was too busy with life, with Damon. You were just a bad part of my past, that was all,' she replied matter-of-factly.

A strong gust of wind played with her unbound hair, making it hang partially in front of her face, hiding it from his gaze.

He ached. Inside his chest, beneath the rib cage where his heart should have been, there was a bruised and battered muscle that hurt with every beat, reminding him what he'd thrown away, what he'd so easily discarded.

'Is she still lost?' he asked in a painful whisper, eager yet dreading her answer.

'Who?' She purposefully played dumb, prolonging his misery.

'Seventeen year old Elena, the girl who'd begged me to love her…'

She laughed and the sound cut him anew. It was ironic, pitiless in its magnificence. 'Lost? She doesn't exist anymore, Elijah.'

He looked at her while she resolutely concentrated on the cover of the book.

'Would you like to have dinner with me, Elena?' he asked.

Her head snapped up and she stared at him as if he'd gone round the bend. 'Dinner?'

'At my home,' he added hastily. 'Nowhere in public. I know how that would be perceived by people, and I don't want to cause fights between you and Damon.'

'Why?'

He didn't know how to answer her. He didn't think she would appreciate the truth much, that he wanted to see if there was any hope for him or not. He didn't think she would like to listen how he dreamt about her when he closed his eyes, how he wanted her heart, how he wanted her to love him, and only him.

So, he settled for half-truths instead. 'I have missed you,' he said slowly. 'And it would ease my conscience slightly. I would understand if you don't want to. After all, you have every right to enjoy my discomfort, my guilt. You are under no obligation to do anything you don't want to.'

She smirked at him, as if she saw through his manipulation, his partially uttered sentences enveloping just traces of sincerity. 'You do know that my parents are going to embrace the dark side if I agree to your dinner proposal, and that my father is gonna be eager for your blood? Not to mention that Damon is gonna want to deck you?'

'Does this mean that you're considering having dinner with me?' he asked hopefully, eagerly.

'Oh, I've decided to follow on your dinner invitation,' she said nonchalantly.

He was surprised and it showed on his face.

'Why?'

'I'm curious,' she replied after a moment.

'About what?'

'If you're still the same man I remember, or have the years managed to change you.'

'And what would you like, Elena?' he asked. 'The old me, or a changed, newer version?'

'Depends,' she said. 'On my mood at the time.'

He smiled indulgently as if he saw past her façade of bravery, as if he knew how hard her heart was beating, and how desperately she wanted to run away. Maybe, just maybe there still was a part of her that was reminiscent of her seventeen year old self.

'Still a consummate vegetarian?' he enquired lightly.

'No, not anymore.'

'You still have some affinity left for vanilla flavored ice creams, don't you?'

She looked at him a moment too longer, a moment tinged with bitterness and past and regrets. 'I'll give it a try again,' she answered softly before getting up and shoving the book in her large handbag dangling from her shoulders.

'I'll text you my address,' he said.

'Do you have my number?'

She rolled her eyes and fished out her phone. His phone buzzed with an incoming text and he opened the message surprisingly.

'You have my number?' he asked in a pained whisper.

'Maybe, I'm a masochist,' she said with a smile and then walked away without glancing back once.

* * *

 **Call out my name…**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 10**

'No, I don't believe it!'

'Believe what you will. Here I am, sleeping soundly, dreaming about the 1969 Chevy Camaro convertible and suddenly there's this banging on my door, and when I open it, I swear to god it's true, there stands my baby brother on my door with a bra hanging from his fingers and tears in his eyes. Like genuine, full on tears, wet cheeks and all, and I'm thinking, shit, Stefan is one of those dudes who cry when they have sex. But then I take another look at his hands, and man I want to laugh, but I can't. The wire from the chick's push up bra is inside his index finger. There is blood and Stefan is just standing there, holding out his hand as if he expects me to pull out the thing.'

Alaric was laughing so hard, he was crying.

'So, I hauled his ass to the hospital where a doctor pulled out the black push up bra and gave Stefan his tetanus shots. I swear, the dude is still terrified of push up bras,' Damon finished with hand motions to emphasize the point.

'What happened to the girl?' Alaric wheezed.

'She ran away in one of Stefan's T-shirt. But I gotta give props to my baby bro, he returned her bra next day in school, cementing his name as a legend in Mystic Falls High,' Damon added whimsically.

'Must have been your idea.'

'Damn right, it was,' Damon replied with a smile.

'What—'

There was a knock on the door and Damon promptly moved his chair away from the edge of the table where Alaric had been propped on from past twenty minutes, wheedling out tales of his High School debauchery.

Alaric narrowed his eyes and shifted closer to where Damon sat in his chair—back straight, hands in his lap and gaze at files in his hands. Looking extremely professional. It annoyed Alaric; it set his teeth on edge.

'Loosen up, Damon. No body's gonna think we are having an affair if you sit a bit closer to me,' Alaric imparted sagely.

The landline on his desk rang, and he picked it up after noticing the shuttered look in Damon's eyes.

'Yes?'

'Ms. Gilbert is here for Mr. Salvatore.' It was Vicki, the bubblegum worshipping dragon who guarded the doors of his chambers and kept all interlopers away. And just like that, his good mood was gone. He slammed the receiver with a little more force than he should have.

'Elena's here,' he said without a preamble when Damon raised his eyebrows at his grouchy attitude.

Damon vacated the chair as if his ass was on fire. 'See you tomorrow, Alaric,' he bade a rushed goodbye as he hurried out of Alaric's office, leaving Alaric to his own devices.

Alaric knew his attraction to Damon would end in heartache for him. He was setting himself up for a fall. Damon loved Elena. He'd said so himself. So, why did Alaric feel as if Damon was attracted to him too?

He walked over to the left glass wall. Like a pathetic sap he saw Damon walk out of the building, hand in hand with Elena, head tilted in her direction, eyes rapt on her in attention, listening to whatever she was saying.

Elena Gilbert was lucky. She had Damon Salvatore's undivided love and attention.

He walked back to his chair and sank down in it.

With every passing day, his attraction to Damon was getting deeper whereas he didn't know for a fact whether Damon liked him or not.

 _Why couldn't Damon be gay?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 11**

Stars were out in full force tonight, trying in vain to light up the night sky. Like she was trying in vain to find the most opportune moment to tell Damon that she had accepted Elijah's dinner proposal.

They were sitting on the terrace; Damon sprawled on a _divan_ , his head cushioned in Elena's lap. He was moving his head ever so slightly on the rhythm emanating from his ear buds. A small smile hovered on his lips as if he was reliving a beautiful memory.

Her fingers absently continued with their gentle movement of tracing geometric patterns on his cheeks.

He opened his eyes suddenly and sat up.

'What's eating you?'

She lowered her head, deliberating on how to tell him. She knew it wasn't the big deal she was making it out to be in her head, but then, why did it feel as if she was doing something wrong by keeping the news of Elijah's dinner proposal from him?

Was she betraying Damon?

'Elena,' he said gently, tugging her in his hold. 'Does it have anything to do with Elijah?'

She was startled by his question. 'How did you know?' she mumbled.

His laughter was her answer.

'He invited me for dinner at his place.'

'Do you wanna go?' Damon asked, his hands buried in her hair as he eased out the tangles.

'I accepted.'

'Then, it is sorted, isn't it? This little piece of triviality was bothering you all afternoon?'

She nodded frantically, hitting the underside of his jaw in her eagerness.

'Oww, Elena.'

'I'm so sorry,' she said apologetically, examining the injury. 'Have I broken any bones?' she joked. He grumbled in response.

It was a running joke between the two of them after he'd spent a month in bed because of the bag she'd left on floor and he'd tripped over it in his pursuit to chase her around their room.

'Were you really worried about my reaction?' he asked after sometime.

'Of course, I was. It still feels as if I'm betraying you,' she confessed.

'Silly girl,' he said affectionately as he placed a kiss on one of her cheeks. 'I trust you. I trust you more than I trust myself.'

'And I trust you more than I trust myself,' she repeated.

'So, what's your game plan?'

'Game plan?'

'Yeah. What are you going to do to remind Mikaelson of the fact that he lost all of this—' he pointed at her, '—because of his own stupidity?'

'I don't know. I don't think he needs a reminder.'

'Of course, he does. And I have the perfect dress in mind.'

She groaned in defeat as Damon continued to detail the so-called "perfect dress" he'd seen while web surfing last night.

* * *

After he was asleep, Elena slipped out of the bed, picked up his phone from the nightstand and tip-toed out of the room. She had couple of minutes before Damon would miss her presence and wake up because of it.

Ah-ha.

She dialed the number and as expected, a very sleepy male voice answered at the last ring.

'Damon?' She could hear the surprise in Alaric's tone.

'Guess again.'

'Elena?'

'Yup. So, there is this exhibition tomorrow evening by an artist Damon secretly fanboys over.'

'So?'

'So, use your brain, Alaric,' she admonished. 'He will definitely be there. You can be there tomorrow evening and accidently stumble across him.'

'Why are you telling me this?' Alaric asked suspiciously.

'I have seen the way you look at my Damon.'

'P-Pardon me?'

'You like him, don't you?' she cajoled.

He was silent for a moment. 'He is with you,' Alaric said softly. 'He loves you.'

'He does.'

'Then, why—'

'It's complicated, Alaric, but you will understand one day. Hopefully. So, do as I say. Tomorrow evening. Seven sharp. I'll text you the address. And, Alaric, I'll end you if you hurt him.'

'Thank you, Elena.'

'You owe me one, Saltzman. Okay, gotta go. Good night.' She hung up and deleted the call logs.

With a smile that threatened to turn into bubbly laughter, she crept back into the room she shared with Damon, quietly placing the phone back at its place. When she got inside the bed, Damon curled against her, hiding his face in her hair.

She had done something good for him, hadn't she? He liked Alaric. He'd said so himself. Then why was she suddenly feeling morose all of the sudden?

'Where were you,' he mumbled sleepily.

'I had to pee.'

'Liar.'

'I should've dragged you to the loo with me. Then you wouldn't be saying this.'

'Liar. You throw off the covers when you run off to pee. You were sneaking out.'

'Go to sleep, Poirot.'

'Love you, Elena.'

'Love you too, Damon…'


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 12**

There was a strange tranquility in staring at a painting. The strokes of a brush, the spread of colors, the ever changing subject portrayed—it gave you relief from the rush of life. Damon would have preferred an empty gallery, for art was something you understood truly in solitude.

Champagne glasses dangling from fingers, bodies wrapped in an expensive dress, feet shod in leather of highest quality, skin drenched in perfume—people were here for display. They didn't come here to gaze at Enzo's paintings and divine the nature of his use of yellow in displaying a woman's eyes, or perchance the way light hit and brought out indigo in an angel's wing. They came here to gaze at Enzo, to circle around him like piranhas, eager for the piece they could take home and show other people like them that they owned a part of Enzo.

Damon had always been territorial of Enzo's art. He didn't know why, but he hated when non-appreciating buffoons took home his paintings to hang them over their mantel or in their stuffy studies never to be looked at again. Maybe it was because Enzo often chose him and Elena as subjects, or maybe because he and Enzo were so alike.

Sons of cruel, heartless fathers. Fathers who were brothers.

'Where's Elena?'

He turned to smile at his cousin who'd finally come out of hiding after two years.

'She sends her love.'

'She's not trying to pull another of her stunts right now, is she?' Enzo whispered, looking around hastily.

The memory of Enzo's last exhibit brought a smile to Damon's lips. Elena had decided to attend the showing dressed as Carrie, fake blood and all. Her dramatic entry had managed to scare the living daylights out of many crusty, old money ghouls.

'Your stepmama is eyeing my most coveted piece.'

'Which one?'

'The one you haven't seen yet.'

'I always save the best for last.'

Enzo pushed him in the direction of a small inner chamber off the main hall, one that housed the gallery's prized Enzo Salvatore paintings regularly.

The light was dim, and the first thing that Damon saw when he entered the space was not the painting, but the man standing in front of it.

It was Alaric.

Annoyance prickled at him before he set it aside. This was where he came to escape, and watching Alaric here unsettled him despite the fact that he was attracted to the man.

Alaric moved to the side and Damon got his first look at his cousin's recent piece de resistance.

 _There he was on the canvas, entwined with Elena._

Enzo had painted them as angels, wings broken, bleeding on the barren earth. They were holding one another in a desperate embrace, faces so full of love that he felt as if he should avert his eyes. As if he was intruding on something private.

Their faces were slightly tilted up to the sky, and the yearning for home resonated so sharply that he found himself reaching for the canvas.

'Do you like it?' Enzo asked.

Liked it? Damon was so overcome with emotion that he could do nothing but nod.

Enzo patted his back twice before leaving him standing in a dimly lit room, before a piece of art that reflected his life.

'He's talented,' Alaric said, coming to stand beside him.

'Hmm,' Damon assented absent-mindedly, eyes still rapt at the painting.

Was this what people saw when they looked at them? At Elena and Damon together?

In that moment as he stared at the painting, his heart was hurting. He wanted to dig inside his skin and claw it out, hold it in his hands and give it to Elena. For she was the only one who had claim over it.

His Elena.

He suddenly felt alone without her, breathless and suffocated in this room. In past seven years, there had hardly been a handful of functions and social engagements that he'd attended alone. Elena had always been there for him.

Always.

He didn't like this feeling—this state of being without Elena.

He wanted—

'Damon, will—'

'I'm sorry, Alaric. I'll have to take your leave,' he said hastily as he took a step away from the man, moving with determined steps towards the exit.

'Damon, dude! Are you bailing on me?' Enzo hissed as he pulled Damon into a corner.

'Sorry, Enzo, but I gotta go. Would you keep that piece saved for me?'

They both knew which piece he was talking about.

'Damon, what is it?'

'Nothing,' he answered with a smile. 'I'll make it up to you.'

And with a hurried goodbye, Damon walked out of the gallery and broke into a jog. He fished out his phone, dialing her number as he reached the valet and ordered his car to be brought around.

Maybe this was silly, this urgency he felt.

But all he knew was that he needed Elena…


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 13**

Elijah still looked like a million bucks while cooking.

He chopped onions like a pro. The movement of his hand was soothing. It shouldn't have been, but it was despite the wicked looking knife he was using over his veggies.

'Do you cook frequently?' she asked.

'I like to.'

'You don't have a fancy chef for that kind of thing?'

'Well, I have, but I prefer to cook for myself most of the days. I gave the day off to my staff.'

'Well, that makes this dinner more clandestine than it needs to be,' she remarked, rolling her eyes at the prideful tilt of his jaw.

He laughed.

'So, what are you feeding me today?'

'Well, I thought a tofu stir fry would be acceptable.'

'Nothing more fancier?' she asked, thoroughly amused.

'Well, pasta would have been too dateish,' he replied.

She laughed.

'Want me to help out?'

'Do you want to?'

'Well, depends,' she said with a mischievous smile, her teeth biting her lower lip.

'Don't do that,' he muttered distractedly, his eyes trained on her mouth.

'What?' she asked, playfully running her thumb on the edge of her lower lip.

'That,' he said as he put down his knife and came around the counter to pull a chair in front of her. He folded his body gracefully as he sank down. He was a picture of ease as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms in front of his chest, and continued to stare at her.

'What are you doing?' she asked after sometime, baffled at his action.

'Go ahead and do what you were doing earlier. I'm all free and relaxed now, no sharp instruments in sight which could endanger me if I lose focus,' he replied seriously.

'Seriously?'

'Oh, you think I'm joking?'

She started laughing. She got up and moved over to the counter, picking up the knife to slice the tomatoes.

The knife felt foreign in her hand. Damon was the one who did all the chopping when they cooked something. Since the first time she'd cut her fingers while finely chopping the ginger, Damon had never let her touch the knife.

'Elena?'

She turned her head around to look at him.

At Elijah.

The oven beeped and he got up to take out the soufflé.

Damon had made blueberry pie yesterday. She wanted to eat a piece of blueberry pie. It was a very sudden urge, a surprisingly strong craving.

She felt bereft, like a rudderless ship.

In last seven years, she'd only cooked with Damon, only ate with him.

She felt uneasy, the desire to run away materializing at the forefront of her mind.

What was she doing here? She needed Damon.

She put down the knife hastily and rushed towards the table where she'd dropped her bag.

'Elena?' Elijah called.

'I'm so sorry, Elijah, but I need to go home.'

'Did something happen?'

'I'm sorry about this. I'll try this again. Next time,' she replied, and practically ran outside.

She was probably being stupid, but she needed Damon…


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 14**

They entered Gilbert estate simultaneously, and were out of their cars before the gate closed behind them completely.

'Where was your phone?' she shouted.

'Why was your phone busy?' he shouted back.

They paused, stopped walking towards one another, a small distance still separating them.

'I missed you,' he confessed in a whisper.

'I missed you too,' she whispered back.

'We are being stupid, aren't we?' they said at the same time and broke out in laughter. They didn't know who walked towards whom, but in a moment they were in each other's embrace, clinging to one another as if years not hours had separated them.

His hold was familiar. Her smell was dear.

She pressed her cheek against his chest, muscles loosening. His fingers tugged out the pins and her hair tumbled free. He hid his face in that fragrant curtain.

'I ran out on Elijah,' she said.

'I bailed on Alaric,' he whispered.

'I thought I could do this,' she confessed softly.

'Be without you. Enjoy something even in your absence. I couldn't,' he finished.

'Was Alaric terribly put out?' she asked.

'Was Elijah?' he asked in return.

'We have made a mess of things this time around, haven't we, Damon?'

He looked at her, his eyes tender and lips curved in one of the smiles that he saved only for her.

'Does it really matter?'

She shook her head, smiling in return.

'We should have ordered pizza and binged on Game of Thrones instead.'

They started walking towards home. 'Do you think dad will be irritated because we left the cars in front of the gates again?'

'He will probably give us a rundown tomorrow,' Damon answered thoughtfully. 'All your hard work last night—I'm sorry for messing it up.'

'What are you talking about?'

'You think deleting call logs from my phone is gonna keep me from knowing whom you called last night?' Amusement was evident in his question as embarrassment was on her face.

'I thought you would appreciate the company, and you are too chicken to do anything yourself,' she added with decisive role of her eyes.

'Chicken? Elena Catherine Jane, do you know consequences of calling me a chicken?' he threatened, his arms tightening around her as she squirmed to get free.

'I most certainly do,' she huffed as she struggled with the thoroughly inappropriate use of his muscular strength.

'An impromptu dip in the pond it is for you,' he announced as he picked her up easily.

'Damon, don't you dare,' she shrieked.

'You should've thought about that before calling me a chicken, Elena,' he imparted sagely as he changed his direction and started walking towards the artificial pond on the side of the house.

It was good to be home.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15**

He ran his fingers gently on her cheek, careful lest she wake up.

What was she dreaming about now? The softest of smiles graced her lips and he found himself smiling too. What had happened to him today? Had a painting evoked such a strong response or had it been something else? Maybe the unconscious fear that she would one day fall in love with another man and leave him behind.

He softly traced the shape of her lips, the skin pliant and warm beneath his touch.

Had he become so dependent on Elena that the thought of parting sent him running scared to hold her hand? He loved her, he truly did, but the urgency and phobia he'd felt today as if he would die if he didn't hold her in his arms—he'd never felt this before.

Maybe because the thought of losing her had never entered his mind, and today it had when he'd stood all alone in that gallery, in front of that painting.

Her lashes rested smoothly on her cheeks. She was turned in his direction, her head resting on his arm.

He continued staring at her face, at her closed eyes, her cheeks and her lips.

He'd kissed those lips scores of times. Sometimes in public, sometimes in private, in affection, in pain, in sadness—his mouth had brushed against hers countless times. She always tasted sweet. He pulled her close, in his arms. She shifted in her sleep, burrowing in his chest for warmth, tangling her legs with his.

They'd always slept like this, but why did he feel like forgoing sleep and holding her closer still tonight?

She shifted, her thigh came close to his cock and he held his breath.

Desire slowly unfurled inside him, like a delicate bud opening its petals. His heart stopped—it always stopped. She moved again, clutching him in her sleep, her warm breath falling on the side of his throat.

He felt himself respond, felt his cock harden.

He gently extracted himself from her hold, careful as to not disturb her. And then he ran to the washroom. Once he was inside, he let go, wept wretchedly for the lie he'd been telling himself since the day he was nine years old.

The woman sleeping in the other room thought he only liked guys. She thought it was the reason why he'd never gotten his father's approval, why he'd left home.

She was partly right.

Damon had seen firsthand what an animal a man could be. After all, his father often had been one when he brought his mistresses home after he sent away his mother to trips and vacations. And one day his mistress number four had thought that with his wife out of the way, he would marry her. She'd continued to lace his mother's things with arsenic, and Damon had watched his mother die day by day. By the time they found about the arsenic, it had been too late. Damon's mother had been dead.

He'd been seven.

When he'd gone home after kissing Matt Donovan that day, his father had beaten him up. And then Giuseppe Salvatore had called his secretary in the office and proceeded to fuck her brutally in front of nine year old Damon.

' _This is how men fuck, boy_ ,' he'd said while the woman had been leaning on his desk, panting.

He'd not forgotten his father's lesson.

And every time he'd let a man use him, humiliate him, fuck him since he'd been thirteen years old, he'd returned home in his disheveled state despite the fact that he would be beaten up within an inch of his life to let his father witness what kind of man his eldest son was.

Girls had found him attractive. He'd found them attractive too.

Guys had found him irresistible. He'd fancied some of them back.

He'd sated his desires with many.

Elena…had been different.

He'd known her since they were both young. They'd been friendly. They'd gone to the same school, run in the same circles and struck the unlikeliest of fast-friendships when she'd grabbed his hand in front of his father and proclaimed that elder Salvatore should stop being such a crap parent.

Giuseppe had been speechless, Damon had been fascinated.

They'd been fourteen then.

Within a year, they'd come so close that she knew about his hang-ups and he about the tendre she nursed for Elijah.

The only thing that he'd never shared with her was that he liked her.

How could he? He'd been too deep into his convoluted plan of giving the biggest metaphorical fuck you to his father by letting as many guys fuck him as he could, by letting everyone think that Giuseppe Salvatore's eldest son was only interested in boys, that he was a faggot. He wanted tales of his exploits on the front page of the newspaper. He wanted his father stammering and avoiding eye contact when they asked him about his eldest son's homosexuality.

But the stories never appeared. Giuseppe Salvatore managed to bury them before they could make their way to the paper.

And then one day, Giuseppe had dragged him to a room where fourteen year old Enzo had been cowering in the corner, his face black and blue from the fists of his father—Giuseppe's younger brother.

Giuseppe had told Damon to fuck Enzo.

' _You like men, don't you, boy? Do perverse things with them. Do it with him. Shouldn't be any different now, should it?'_

Damon had punched his father.

The rest of it was an ugly memory, a very ugly memory that he'd tried to forget in Elena's body that night seven years ago.

That night when he and Elena had engaged in sex, he'd been his father's son.

He'd given her nothing but pain.

He would always remember that much.

In turn, his Elena, she'd taken care of him.

So, how was he to tell the girl he loved with everything he was, that he didn't want her to leave him behind? That he desired her? That was attracted to her? That sexuality wasn't something he'd paused to introspect? That lying had become a part of him and he could no longer find courage to tell her the truth?

How was he to tell her that the man she slept beside every night got hard when she clung to him in sleep, that he wanted nothing than to place kisses all over her skin?

How was he to tell her that he was attracted to Alaric, not because he'd any fervent desire to fuck the man, but because of his issues? That Alaric reminded him of what he could've been—an individual confident in his sexuality, not haunted because of it—had he anyone to talk to in his youth?

How was he to tell her that after he'd fucked up?

So, he'd donned the mantle of her knight, discarded his complicated plan of humiliating his father and decided that he was going to keep her safe from the heartbreaks of the world.

For that is what one did for the woman they loved.

He didn't care of whit about his reputation or what people said or wrote about him, but he cared about her. And in the eyes of the world, Damon Salvatore and Elena Gilbert were a love story beyond compare. His dirty laundry if aired would hurt her.

If they found about his escapades now, about his countless lovers who'd taken pleasure in his body, they would mock her. Call her a fool for standing by a man who allegedly preferred the intimate company of men rather than her.

It was because of her he didn't want anyone to know what kind of man he was. He would die before he saw her getting dragged in mud, an easy prey for the vultures, or worse, Katherine.

'Damon?'

He hastily wiped the tears and turned around to face her. Her hair was tangled, her eyes sleepy and she was frowning in a way that he found absolutely adorable.

She'd never been more beautiful.

'Come back to bed,' she yawned as she tugged him by hand.

'You were gone for so long,' she complained.

'I'm sorry Elena,' he said, settling amid the warm covers.

'Whatever for?' she asked drowsily.

'Everything,' he whispered as he pulled her close, tucked her beneath his chin.

'I'm sorry too,' she said after sometime.

'Why?'

'For hurting you that day. For depending too much on you than I should,' she admitted rawly.

They both knew which day she was talking about.

'Silly girl,' he said fondly. 'You could never hurt me. You can lean on me as much as you want. I won't buckle. I won't get tired. I won't let go.'

'Promise?'

'Cross my heart and swear to—' She pressed her palm against his lips.

'Don't ever say that word,' she said in fear.

'I'm not going anywhere, Elena. Thanatos himself can't drag me away from you.'

She fell asleep after that, one of her hands on his heart and another around his neck.

He kept his silent vigil while he wondered about the true mess he'd made of the things.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 16**

In sleep he looked like an angel.

It was early hours of morning and she'd woken up suddenly, her head too heavy with thoughts for sleep. What had happened last night at Elijah's? It had been going fine before she'd felt a yearning so sharp that she'd run to be with Damon.

Was it fear?

Was it the knowledge that she would lose him to Alaric?

She gently traced the edge of his lips. He leaned into her touch and smiled in sleep. Her heart missed a beat.

She always woke before him in the mornings to watch him sleep. The way he curved his body around her, the way he would always be touching her in his sleep, the way he would open his eyes and smile at her when he woke up and would mutter a "Good morning".

She loved it when he pulled her in his body, when he spooned her and clutched her close, when he would hide his face in her hair and breathe on her neck.

Sometimes he rolled with her in sleep and she would lay there, tangled in sheets and him, warm all over, surrounded by the smell that was uniquely Damon.

And often in those mornings when he held her close, still asleep, she would feel his cock harden. He pushed against her warmth and she let him. For a perfect moment she could pretend that he was completely hers.

She had perfected it—the art of slipping away without waking him up. That way she could maintain the pretense in her head that they were platonic, that she didn't think about him that way.

It had to be a biological thing and not sexual, for Damon was attracted to men.

She loved him.

In light of the new dawn and apprehension that he would leave her someday when he fell in love with a guy who was worthy of him, she finally saw her feelings for what they were.

She loved Damon Salvatore.

Elijah had been her first love, but then had she really known what love was all about at seventeen?

Now, she knew.

Love...was unconditional.  
It burned bright like a candle in her dark heart, the flame of it warming her from inside.  
Love...was stubborn.  
It sought her hand in loneliness and didn't let go.  
Love...was kind.  
It soothed her to sleep once her demons awoke.  
Love...was fierce.  
It often was ready to fight the whole world just for her.  
Love…was sweet.

It baked her blueberry pies after every fight or just in general when she felt like having it.

Love…was Damon.

He'd been there, ready to fight for her even when her parents hadn't been.

It hurt when she thought about it, how her parents had abandoned her when she'd needed them most, when they'd chosen not to listen to a word she said, when they'd disregarded her feelings altogether. She'd been wrong in playing the femme fatale, but they'd been wrong too when they'd treated her like an errant child made obedient by use of harsh words.

Now, they eased their guilty consciences by allowing her more freedom that she knew what to do with.

Damon was the only person in the world who hadn't let her down.

Elijah was her past. A past she'd left behind seven years ago. Elijah attracted her, yes, but she wasn't in love with him anymore. Yes, she accepted that now. It had been a young girl's ego that had fallen victim that day, not her heart. He'd hurt her then, she wasn't eager to find out if he would do so now.

Attraction and love were two different things.

Elijah was a beautiful idea while Damon was the truth that she lived with. Ideas couldn't love you or keep you warm. Ideas weren't privy to your fears, dreams and hopes for tomorrow. Ideas didn't comfort you in night.

Damon had been right.

Her love for Elijah was a young girl's love—selfish, possessive and unreasonable. For her, he'd been perfection and his love for her Aunt Katherine had been a fault she'd been unable to accept in him. He'd stepped down from the mantle she'd placed him on and in return she'd tried to put him back there.

' _You think about passion as if it is some erotic thing you would love to experience. With your giggles and fluttering eyelashes, you dream of a Prince Charming, one who loves you sweetly, gently, one who's perfection incarnate, not a man of flesh and blood…'_

She'd held onto an idea of Elijah for so long that had it not been for fear tonight, she would've gone on to believe it as love.

Her love for Damon was a woman's love—compassionate, understanding and selfless. She knew he wasn't perfect, but he was hers and his imperfections didn't matter. Passion wasn't a crescendo where they fell apart together in each other's arms. It was violent, it was bitter, it was messy and painful—an amalgamation of two beings who left their individual states behind to merge as one.

Love didn't always demand or expect passion. She would live platonically with Damon for the rest of her life if given the chance.

She loved him.

What had she been doing, kissing Elijah like there was any hope of rekindling a phase that had passed long ago?

He sighed in his sleep and she wanted to place a kiss on his adorable face, but that would wake him up.

'What's got you thinking so early in the morning, beautiful?' he asked sleepily.

'You,' she said with a smile.

'Me? What about me?'

'How I love you. Loads and loads.'

'Me too. More than you though.'

'Hah, not a chance. My love for you is infinity,' she said bossily.

'And mine is infinity plus one. Greater than you,' he replied.

'Go to sleep, Damon.'

'Only if you do too,' he said as he pulled her under covers, spooning her from behind. One of his arms was her pillow while the other he draped across her middle.

'You are the only one I've ever loved,' he said tenderly.

'You're the only one I ever will,' she muttered before promptly falling asleep.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17**

'Damon.'

'Alaric,' he replied politely before concentrating on the files in front of him. Two more hours and he would be free for the day. There was a beautiful emerald pendant he'd ordered from Buccellati and he just needed to drag Elena to shopping to select the perfect dress for dining out. He was thinki—

'Are you ignoring me?'

'What?' he sputtered. He'd not been paying attention to what Alaric had been saying.

'Are you avoiding me? After we met at the gallery, I've hardly seen you.'

'Sorry, I've been busy,' Damon apologized with a smile. Alaric looked sullen and he couldn't help but want to ease the frown from the corner of his lips.

'Wanna come with me for a drink?' Alaric mumbled.

'Are you encouraging your employee to ditch work, Mr. Saltzman?' Damon asked, amused at Alaric's dejected face.

'Yes, I am,' he grumbled.

'A very quick drink that won't take more than an hour or so?'

'Absolutely,' Alaric beamed as Damon got up to follow him.

'Why don't you drive to office?' Alaric asked suddenly while they walked to his car in the underground parking.

'I like being chauffeured around, and Elena loves to indulge me. Not to mention, we don't like spending much time apart from one another,' he replied.

Alaric scowled at that statement, not that Damon could see his face anyway.

'Don't you guys spend all your time together anyway?'

'Are you by any means jealous, Mr. Saltzman?' Damon teased.

Alaric didn't reply but got inside his car and unlocked the passenger door.

'If I could, I would spend all my time with Elena. All of my days and all of my nights,' Damon said jovially as he got inside the car.

'Why?' Alaric was genuinely curious.

Damon didn't answer but smiled instead.

The bar at hotel _Magna Combe_ was busy despite it being a day.

'What do you want?'

'Bourbon.'

'It seems we prefer the same kind of booze,' Alaric remarked.

'One of the many similarities between us, I'm sure.'

Damon fished out his phone to shoot Elena a text. But before he could do so—

'Damon!' It was Matt Donovan. The jovially smug tone didn't escape his notice. He had gone out of his way to give Matt Donovan a wide berth since he and Elena had started living together.

But the animosity between him and Matt had started long ago. Matt Donovan had been Damon's first kiss at the age of nine and one of the prominent reasons for his ignorance. It wasn't until Caroline had kissed him at eleven that he'd known that he was fine with either sexes. Male, female—the gender had nothing to do with attraction in case of Damon Salvatore. Matt had made a move on Damon when they'd been thirteen. Matt had grabbed his face in the school shower and kissed the life out of him.

When caught, he'd blamed Damon entirely.

Damon had taken it all in stride, adopted the careless Salvatore demeanor and proclaimed that Matt didn't taste as good as Vicky did. Mrs. Donovan had come to school the very next day to argue about the treasured virtue of her precious Matt.

'Fancy seeing you here, Damon,' Matt said as he settled one of his arms around Damon's shoulder.

'Well, it has been a long time, Matthew,' Damon replied politely.

Alaric was eyeing them strangely. 'You know each other?' he asked.

'Oh, yes. We used to be friends,' Matt said eagerly, putting an undue and vulgar emphasis on the word "friend".

'Still drinking bourbon, Damon,' Matt husked. 'Well, tastes don't change, do they?'

'I guess they don't,' Damon answered blandly. 'You know Alaric?' he asked to change the topic.

'Yes. Mr. Saltzman and I are very intimate acquaintances? How do you know him?'

Damon looked at Alaric and noticed that he was trying his best to pretend that Matt didn't exist. So, he and Matt?

He wanted to laugh at the bizarre scenario unfolding in front of him. This shit only happened in the movies.

'How do you know him, Damon?' Matt repeated.

He was about to answer when—

'Matthew Donovan,' she bellowed from behind him, her voice carrying over the din of the patrons. 'Get you hand off my Damon.'

He naturally turned in her direction, making Matt stumble in the process.

She was glorious, his goddess. By the look on her face, she was about to rain her wrath on Matt Donovan. He completely planned to enjoy the show.

'Did you not hear me?' she barked as she came to stand in front of him. 'Move your paws from his person.'

People were looking and Matt decided to beat a hasty retreat, but Elena wasn't going to let him.

'I still haven't decided how I'm gonna kill you for assaulting him when he was thirteen, Donovan,' she hissed at him. 'And you have the gall to touch him again?'

'Listen here, Gilbert. He isn't a baby—'

'I'll chop your hands and tie them in a string to hang it from your neck if you think about laying a finger on him.'

'That's too much—'

'I'll scoop out your eyeballs and cook them in a soup to feed it to you.'

'You don't scare me, G-Gilbert,' Matt stuttered, trying to get away from her.

'And lastly—' she leaned into his personal space to mutter it straight into his ears, '—I'll castrate you and glue your dick on your forehead.'

He ran away without looking back once. She turned to Alaric. 'I'm disappointed in you, Saltzman,' she muttered.

'Come on, Damon, we are going home.' She grabbed his hand and tugged him away from his bar stool. He followed her, transfixed, enchanted, a little more in love.

'Are you okay?' she asked once they were out, turning his hands back and forth, standing on her tip-toes to touch his face.

'What do you think?' he asked amusedly.

'I'll kill Matt Donovan next time he even looks at you,' she grumbled. 'And I'm sorry if I was out of line with Alaric, but he should have protected you.'

'By pissing on me and marking his territory?'

Her huge wide eyes looked at him, and he couldn't help but tease some more. 'No one in this city, let alone country is gonna forget whom Damon Salvatore belongs to.'

'Shit!' she buried her face in his chest. 'I went overboard, didn't I? Complete psycho, possessive girlfriend?'

'I liked it.'

'Did you?' she asked, her face turned up to look at him, brows drawn together in curiosity. 'Did you really?'

'Absolutely,' he whispered. 'There isn't a man in this world as loved as I am.'

'Right? I'm so loving.'

'How couldn't you be? I'm so easy to love,' he jested.

'Yes, you are,' she said tenderly. 'Too easy to love.'

'As are you,' he muttered as he dipped his head to touch her lips with his.

She tasted sweet.

She tasted like love.

She always did…


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 18**

Night found them in bed, turned towards each other, eyes staring deep into one another. Not a word was said between them and yet they knew what brewed in that silence.

Uncertainty. Fear. Longing. love.

'What do we do?' she asked.

'I don't know,' he replied as he pushed back the tendrils behind her ear. 'You love him, don't you? Even though he broke your heart, you love him, right?'

She wanted to say that she didn't, that finally she'd understood that it had always been him, but then she remembered the man who'd made her Damon smile, the man Damon liked.

The man he probably would come to love if only she let him go.

'Elena?'

Had it been anyone else, she would've lied, said that she loved Elijah in a heartbeat, but she couldn't lie to Damon. Maybe she was selfish, trying to hold these moments with him dearly so that the warmth of them could last her for a lifetime.

'I don't know,' she confessed, lying partly. 'Do you like Alaric?'

A small part of her wanted him to say no. A very minuscule part, the idiotic part that had realized the depth of her love too late, had known her heart at the very last moment.

'Yes, I do. He's very likeable.'

His eyes were pleading. "Ask more," they seemed to say. "Tell me that I can love no other but you."

Her eyes were begging him to tell her that Elijah was no good, that she deserved better. One word from his lips and she would have confessed it all, but he remained silent, staring as did she.

They shifted and turned on their backs, staring at the ceiling overhead. His fingers found hers and her fingers fit in the spaces between his fingers perfectly. He held her hand tightly and closed his eyes.

He didn't want this night to end.

She didn't want the tomorrow to come.

'I'm scared,' he whispered in the very same night.

'We can't run away from it all, can we?' she asked.

'I want to,' he said. 'It would be amazing, right?'

'Hiding out on a deserted island where there is no one but you and me. We can sleep on the shore and count the stars,' she added.

'And you can sing me lullabies,' he said softly.

'Damon, have you ever fancied a girl?' she asked.

Fancied? He loved the woman in his arms, but could he tell her that?

'Damon?'

'I love you, Elena,' he said suddenly, pulling her in his arms. He knew it was wrong of him to lie to her, but he didn't want her to stay with him only because of the fact that he was bisexual and he'd always loved her and it wasn't only guys he was attracted towards.

She loved Elijah. He needed to let her go for her to act upon those feelings.

But he would hold her this night; hold her tightly and dearly, committing her smell and the feel of her to his memory for the times she would not be beside him…

* * *

 **No need to fret or fear, I'm very deeply committed to happily ever afters these days…**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 19**

'I am sorry,' she said.

She was breaking his heart, not that she knew. He won't ever let her know.

'It's okay,' he said bravely, managing to smile for her. 'Your heart knows what it wants, Elena. It's my misfortune that it doesn't want me.'

'Elijah—'

'You don't need to apologize, Elena. I should be the one doing it. After all, I was foolish enough to think that you would be waiting for me like faithful Penelope. It's my conceit and my fault—thinking that love was something I could dictate on my own terms.'

'I really did think I was in love with you,' she mused whimsically.

He'd seen her that day—at Magna Combe. She'd been a lioness, a vengeful goddess coming to the aid of one she loved. Unashamed in her affection, proud of her feelings—she was everything poets wrote about while describing love.

He'd seen that touch of lips—hers and Damon's. So tender, yet tentative as if they both knew what the other needed. He'd felt like a voyeur as if he'd been peeing into something intimate, something very personal.

How could you love somebody like that? How did you love somebody like that where you poured all of you into them and took all of them into you? How did you carve yourself in their image? How did you leave your self behind to walk in the shadow of theirs willingly?

'Does it not feel strange?' he asked.

'What?'

'Love? When I look at you, I see him. And when I look at him, I see you. Were you not scared when you let him fill all your empty spaces? Did it not bother you when you filled the emptiness in him, when you crawled over the parts of him that he himself doesn't like and made them yours?'

She smiled. There was a light in her eyes, a soft expression that made him wanna weep. Would anyone ever look at him the way she did when she thought about Damon?

'He is my home, and I'm his,' she replied simply. 'Love doesn't mean I am ignorant to his faults or he is to mine. Love doesn't mean we don't fight. Love doesn't mean we don't hurt each other.'

'Then what is it?'

'At the end of the day, when my heart hurts, he is the soothing balm. When he is about to fall, I grab his hand and don't let go. When nightmares knock on our door, we hold hands and pray for the morning to come. He guards my dreams. I keep alive his hope. I'm the one to whom he prays, believing that I am capable of miracles. I would dive in hell itself for one smile on his lips. He's the one for whom I kneel, confessing my sins and my dark deeds. He forgives all. We worship one another,' she added with a laugh. 'I know it sounds corny, but in the darkest of times, we have only had each other for hope and comfort.'

'It seems spiritual,' he wondered out loud.

'It is, and then there are days when it isn't. When it's dark and violent, buzzing with the undercurrent of our silence. There are days when we fight so viciously that even my parents think this is it. When we turn our faces away. When we are too proud to apologize. There are days like that too. But then the night comes, and no matter how angry we are with one another, no matter how bitterly we fought, in sleep we forget the reasons of our quarrel. In sleep we hold one another and then the morning comes and we forget why we fought in the first place…'

'You sound so mature. I feel like a teenager,' Elijah joked.

'You have changed too. The Elijah I knew was cold. You aren't.'

'Maybe not to you. No one else has remarked on my change of personality.'

'And nobody would because they are afraid of you. You're not an easily approachable man. You've never been.'

'Then I must commend you on your bravery,' he jested.

'You'll find someone amazing. Someone who sees you for who you are. Someone who loves you with all your faults.'

'I have too many of them.'

'No, you don't. You think that you do but you don't,' she said knowingly.

'I'm happy for you, Elena,' he said. 'I truly am.'

She deserved all the happiness in the world.

'I don't deserve your understanding, not after leading you like that. I'm sorry. I was too caught up in my past to appreciate the present.'

'You weren't the only one in that kiss. I thought saying sorry would fix it all. Now that I think about it, I don't understand how I could make myself believe that I had a chance with you.'

'Maybe I could have loved you, had I not loved Damon so much.'

The sun peeked from the clouds to bathe his garden in soft yellow glow. He could see a halo around her head. Damon was lucky to be granted refuge on the altar of this goddess.

Regrets were the pages of your life that were dog-eared. You often turned them to find where you'd gone wrong. He'd turned this particular page of his life so many times that he didn't need to do so anymore to know where he'd gone wrong.

She was the most heartbreaking story written in his fate. She was the most beautiful dream he was often taunted with.

His life, his choices had all been so simple and set in stone. Once, he'd thought fate to be a myth. How foolishly ignorant he'd been.

He was the poorest man in the world despite all his wealth, for his wealth was not enough to buy the love of woman he loved with his whole heart.

He looked at her. She was sitting beside him on the marble bench, the drops of water from the nearby fountain on her cheeks. Her eyes were staring in a distance and he found himself aching with the need to hold her.

But she was not his to hold.

In last seven years he'd matured too.

His love wasn't the love of a man obsessed with the woman who was forever in his thoughts and dreams. It was the kind of love which he had found in suffering, understood in silence.

It was the kind of love that had taught him patience and kindness.

It was the quiet kind of love, the foolish, naïve love—the love that knew it would remain unrequited, that it was doomed to languish in shadows.

Elijah's love was the love of a man aware of his guilt and his sins, of his choices that had brought him here.

Somewhere in his heart, even when he'd unreasonably hoped, he'd known that he would have to let her go one day. That he would have to teach himself not to dream of her, not to think that one day if he groveled enough, if his repentance was honest and from his heart, she would forgive him.

 _That she would come back._

Elijah Mikaelson loved Elena Gilbert, maybe would always love her, but he wasn't selfish enough or strong enough to hold on to her.

Maybe in another life they'd been destined together despite his stupidity and her apparent attachment with Damon, but it was not this life. It would never be.

'I'm glad you know your heart, Elena,' he said at last, aware that their parting was imminent.

He looked at her one last time; for he knew she would never sit so close to him, or talk so candidly to him again.

She was beautiful.

But then, she'd always been beautiful—Damon's Elena.

Even at seventeen when she could have been his…

* * *

 **Two more chapters to go, happy ending here we come...  
**


	21. Chapter 21

**This is what we've been waiting for. Well, the wait is over...**

* * *

 **Chapter 20**

The taste was different as was the feel of the lips beneath his.

He tasted of bourbon and smoke—an aftertaste of regret Damon had never cared for.

Or maybe, he was just addicted to the sweetness of Elena's lips.

Alaric was in turns sweet and frantic in his touch, tender and animalistic in his hold. Damon could feel his desperation.

 _Did Alaric feel his indifference?_

Attraction was simple, was it not? You could get attracted to the man you didn't know, the man you once shared a lift with, the man you caught a glance from afar, the man whom you admired for his confidence, the man who was equally ignorant about you as you were about him.

Attraction was all about touch, smell, taste and feel.

Attraction was easy to incite and forget.

As Damon pushed Alaric in the wall, his teeth sank in Alaric bottom lip, tugging viciously; he left a mark he didn't care for.

What was Elena doing? He had not wanted to leave her alone, but it was Stefan's birthday party and Elijah would be attending it despite Katherine's presence. She needed all the time she could manage with Elijah for her love story to progress.

'Damon,' Alaric panted.

Damon covered his mouth with his lips. He didn't care for words Alaric was about to say. Intimacy often made you incoherent with the need to profess any and everything to your partner. Damon was not in the mood to lend Alaric an ear.

Alaric was hard. Damon's hand slipped inside his pants, his thoughts still centered on Elena.

Was she dancing with Elijah?

Or had Elijah dragged her to a dark alcove like he had dragged Alaric?

Were they kissing?

'Damon!'

Damon loosened his hold on Alaric's cock, aware that he'd squeezed a little too hard.

He looked at Alaric, aware that he could fuck this man tonight and it would not mean a damn thing despite the fact that he liked Alaric.

'I'm sorry, Alaric. I have to go,' he said after a moment.

'Back to her I presume?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

It made Damon stare at the man he could fool himself into liking. Alaric stared at him mulishly, his mouth set in a frown, his eyes determined.

'I love her, that's why,' Damon answered simply, ready to turn and walk away.

'Then what were you doing with me? Am I supposed to be your secret, Damon?'

Damon laughed at the insinuation. 'Secret implies I want to continue this Alaric. I don't.'

'Was I some sort of sexual experiment then?' Alaric snapped.

'Yes and no.'

'Were you bored with your sex life with Elena that you wanted a bit of spice? She knows about it, doesn't she? After all, she was the one who called and told me that you'd be at the gallery. Pretty open relationship you two have, don't you?' Alaric remarked snidely.

Damon wanted to laugh at the immaturity in front of him. Alaric sounded like a spoiled brat, a side effect of probably getting whatever you wanted in life.

'You and me here, Alaric, was only to confirm something.' Damon took a step in Alaric's direction, his eyes predatory. Alaric stepped back.

'I can fuck you if you want. God knows you're attractive enough and after few drinks I'll be attracted enough. But all the while I'm having sex with you, I'd be thinking of her. Did she get home safely? Is she asleep? What is she dreaming about? Did she miss me? Did she have the glass of warm milk that she often forgets before bed?'

'I kissed you because you wanted me to,' Damon whispered as he caged Alaric's body between the wall and his body, tilting his head to run his nose at the side of Alaric's throat.

'Every time you looked at me, I could see the desperation in your eyes. I found it refreshing after so many late night hook-ups where I let men do whatever they wanted to me because I wanted my father to be humiliated because of me. Your desire was new and something I'd not paused to think about for such a long time.'

'I…I didn't—'

'I'm not gay, Alaric,' Damon stated kindly. 'If I wanted to make you fall for me, I could've played the card of a man scared of his sexuality and afraid to come to grips with it. I know what I am. I've always known. I just made choices that took me too far from one person who would've accepted me just as I am—flawed and fucked up. But then that's past for you. It influences you in ways that you sometimes regret when you get older.'

He pressed a kiss on Alaric's lips. 'I know I might lose her, but I can't let her go. Not just yet. She might not need me in future but right now, she does. And I'm gonna stay by her side till the day she herself tells me to go away.'

'I don't know what to say,' Alaric admitted.

Damon moved away from the man, ready to depart.

'Had…had it not been for her, could we have had something together?' Alaric asked timidly.

'Maybe. Maybe not. You are rather immature at times, you know, and it is exhausting,' Damon replied in humor and walked away, leaving Alaric standing in a darkened corner of his father's manse…

* * *

Elena didn't know where Damon had run off to.

He'd not been in the party, or on the first floor.

Now, she was climbing the stairs to the second floor which housed Giuseppe's study and Stefan's private wing. The immaculate walls interspersed by the carefully curated paintings were a testament of how much money Giuseppe could throw to hide his chauvinistic classlessness.

He'd erased Damon's existence from this house, not that she minded.

After all, Damon didn't belong here.

'…still the same, boy,' she heard Giuseppe hiss.

She hurried in the direction of the voice.

Giuseppe was standing in the front of an ostentatious portrait of himself, his face contorted in hate and disgust as he stared Damon down.

Damon looked distracted and bored, as if he'd heard all of it before.

'So, the Gilbert girl is just a cover? I should've known. How could I think that a degenerate like you would change? Still like taking it up your ass, boy?'

Elena saw red at that comment. She affixed a smile on her face before making her presence known.

'There you are, love. I've been searching all over for you,' she said as she came to stand beside Damon, and slipped her hand in his.

'I…I was coming to find you,' he replied slowly, eyes rapt at her face, mesmerized.

'Had you told me you would be having a chat with your father, I wouldn't have worried so much.'

She tore her glance away from his beautiful face and concentrated on Giuseppe who was sneering at her.

At _them_.

She wanted to punch the bastard. She barely restrained herself.

'Now that I've found you here, Giuseppe, I wanted to talk about something,' she said sweetly.

'And what would that be?'

'Next time you dare address my Damon in such derogatory fashion, I will forget you're his father.'

'And what will you do?' Giuseppe asked in a mocking tone.

'Oh, I will simply hand over the photos I have of you and your lovely wife engaging in a very questionable sexual act with one Matthew Donovan to all the newspapers around the town. I'll even bother myself with sending some to national television networks. You can only imagine what that will do to the stocks and shares of your company.'

'You—'

'And then, when the shares of Salvatore would flood the market, I'll buy all of it and gift it to Damon. I can bankrupt you with a single call. This house that you're very proud of, the noxious masculinity that you preach, that snake of a woman you keep arranged on your arm—I can take it all away.'

'All this anger because I pointed out few key truths to your "boyfriend"?' Giuseppe ridiculed. 'Did you know what your Damon was doing? He was trying to fuck Saltzman in a nook just few steps from my study.'

'So?' she countered instantly. 'We have a pretty open relationship. I don't mind his sexual experimentation. He owns what he does, Giuseppe. My Damon doesn't need to hide who he is with me. He doesn't beg his wife to put a strap on and fuck him in the arse. He doesn't frequent a club where he prefers to wear a collar and crawl after whoever tugs the leash. He doesn't beg Matt Donovan to let him clean some strangers arse with his tongue after Matt is done fucking.'

'You frigid cunt,' Giuseppe roared. His hand moved to strike her hard across her face, but it never reached her.

Damon held his father's wrist in a vise-like grip. 'Don't ever utter that word for her,' he growled. 'Don't you ever dare to talk to her that way, Giuseppe.'

'Why? Do you love her, boy? This girl who's insulting your father in front of you? This beard who has been keeping your secret?'

'Yes, I do. And if I ever hear her name pass your lips, I'll rip out your tongue,' Damon imparted calmly. 'Say what you will about me, but leave her out of it.'

'Virgin bitch,' he leered at Elena. 'Has anyone fucked you, little girl? I can if you say "please".'

His vision tunneled. There was a ringing in his ears and he could hear nothing but Giuseppe's words in his head. It brought back memories of a time when he'd hurt Elena, when he'd made her bleed. His fists rose automatically, meeting Giuseppe's nose with a sharp crunch. 'You bastard! What the fuck did you say?'

His fists continued punching, his mind blank except for the rage he felt.

How could Giuseppe say something like that, something so vile to his Elena?

'Damon, it's okay,' a voice whispered in his ears and a pair of arms snaked around his chest, restraining him from causing any further harm.

'No, Elena, I'm gonna—'

'It's enough, love,' she murmured. 'You've done enough.'

Damon stared at his father. Giuseppe's face was bloody. Damon's knuckles were raw.

'I-I—'

'I love you, you know that, right?' she said.

He could do nothing but nod and stare at her.

She looked otherworldly tonight.

Clad in a column of black, diamonds glittered at her lobe and winked at her throat. Her red lips were plush and he wanted nothing more than to kiss the color away. Her almost bare face was radiant.

He'd not even danced with her once in the masquerade that had been organized in the honor of his baby brother's birthday.

She turned in his father's direction and dropped a tissue she'd fished out of her impossibly flat clutch near him.

'Wipe off your face, Giuseppe,' she advised. 'And just for the record, Damon is a sex god. I wonder where he gets it from. Not from you, I'm sure.'

She turned away from his father, holding out her hand. A smile was on her lips and his heart—it was ready to burst out of his chest.

He let her tug him out of the corridor, following her in a wondrous rapture.

She was the one.

His Elena—she would always be the one.

She leaned against an elaborately carved column and pulled him to her.

'Marry me,' he said tenderly.

'Marry me,' she said shyly.

They had spoken at the same time.

'Don't you love Elijah?' he asked.

'Don't you fancy, Alaric?' she questioned.

'Will I be enough?' he queried uncertainly.

'Could I make you happy if I tried?'

They looked at each other. Damon and Elena who'd loved each other since perhaps the very first day.

'You're more than enough,' she said as a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye.

'I'd be the happiest man in the world if you married me,' he whispered, words choked.

She clung to him fiercely. His hold was equally tight.

A sob broke free from her throat.

'I love you. I love you. I love you,' he repeated as tears wet his cheeks, and he kissed the top of her head.

She sobbed, her face hidden in his chest.

'I'm sorry it took me so long, love. I'm so sorry.'

Despite his avowals of love, her tears didn't stop.

'Elena, look at me, love,' he cajoled. 'Look at me, Elena.'

She raised her head, drops of moisture clinging to her spiked lashes. His fingers wiped away the tears from her cheeks.

'I love you. I've always loved you. I will always love you.'

'I know,' she said in a small voice.

'Then why are you crying?' he asked, bewildered.

'I'm happy and relieved, you idiot,' she huffed, punching him in the chest.

'Elena, I—'

'I know,' she said.

'When did you know? How long have you known?'

'Does it matter?'

'No, it doesn't,' he replied. 'So, you're really gonna marry me?'

'You bet!'

'And make love to me?' he sibilated.

'Every damn night,' she answered, the blush staining her cheeks a soft pink.

'And have kids with me?' he asked in an aching whisper.

'I'm thinking about one to start with, but we will have three.'

He pushed her against the column at her back and leaned over her, staring. There was only wonder in her eyes and love. Her lips were curved in a smile and her scent tantalized him. He leaned closer and she raised her head.

It was supposed to be a brief touch of his lips on hers, but the moment her hand touched the side of his neck and his lips her mouth, something broke free inside them.

She wound her arms behind his neck; he hoisted her legs around his waist. His mouth devoured her taste, her tongue played with his.

It was by no means perfect. They bumped their noses and she bit his tongue, he pushed her a bit too hard against the surface, his teeth biting her skin.

Her nails left scratches that would heal, his palm bruises that would fade. They drank from one another till they couldn't take one more breath. Short on breath they broke apart, faces flushed, grinning like teenagers who'd made past the first base.

'I didn't even get to dance with you.' She pouted. 'You look dapper in a tux.'

'You look sensational in that dress. Do you really wanna dance?'

'Yes. I like dancing with you,' she said.

'I like dancing with you too. So, let's dance.'

'Here?' She frowned.

'What's wrong with here?'

'I wanna dance downstairs,' she demanded.

'Want to show me off?' he jested.

'Yep,' she answered candidly. 'So, put me down.'

'Can't I carry you downstairs?'

'You can carry me over the threshold…'

* * *

 _You're the right time at the right moment,_

 _You're the sunlight that keeps my heart going…_

She swayed in his embrace. It was perfect.

People barely noticed them in a sea of couples dancing together. Even when they did, it was nothing new. Elena Gilbert had always been in the arms of Damon Salvatore.

'Let's get out of here,' she whispered to him.

'You wanted to dance!'

She gave him a veiled glance, peering at him from beneath her lashes.

'God!' He took a deep breath and twirled her. When she came back into his arms, he held her still amid people in motion.

He looked into her eyes and smirked. 'Let's get out of here, Elena…'

* * *

 **The words of the song are from Henry Lau's "It's you". Just one more chapter left. To all the people who've left me sweetest of words, thank you. You don't know how much it means to me. I just didn't want Damon and Elena to be buried, broken dreams. I hope I gave them an ending they deserved. Just one more day, one more chapter. I feel weepy all of the sudden. Must be dust...**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 21**

'Do you like it?' His voice was husky and a whisper that warmed her skin in the darkness of their room.

She moaned in answer. His lips had been around her nipple, kissing, sucking, teasing, gently biting…

'And this?' His fingers gently traced the shape of her slit from over her silk panties. Yet another moan escaped her throat. She was feverish. He'd kissed her and kissed her till she'd lost her mind in the symphony of his touch, taste and lips.

Was it always like this when it came to sex? Or was it only because it was Damon?

'You've got to tell me if you don't like anything or if you're uncomfortable, okay?'

She nodded for she didn't trust herself to speak. She looked at him, her eyes heavy with lust she didn't know what to do with.

With him, there was no shame, no reservation, and no apprehension about whether he would like her body or not. Or if she was going to please him or not.

She would learn from him, with him about what he liked and what he avoided, what pleased him and what drove him wild.

Intimacy wasn't the stuff of stories. It wasn't hot, dreamy or magical. Intimacy was warm and messy, something that you explored with the one you trusted. There were no throbbing cunts and pulsating members, spontaneous orgasms and no refractory period.

'Where did you go to?' he asked as he pulled her on top of him, their bodies entwined without a stitch of clothing. He was hard and she—well she was equal parts excited and terrified.

'Will it hurt again?'

He looked at her for a moment, knowing that she was remembering her first time.

'I'll try to make it painless. Did you ever try it with anyone else?' He didn't know why he felt suddenly possessive. He'd thought himself to be above such baser tendencies, but it was truth universally acknowledged that every man had a bit of animal in him when it came to the woman they loved and physical intimacy.

'You know I didn't,' she answered softly, breaking his chain of thought. 'I…I don't think I can have an orgasm.'

His hands tightened around her imperceptibly before he relaxed.

'Who told you that?' he asked gently.

She lowered her gaze and moments passed, they stayed like that, she didn't raise her head, didn't meet his eyes.

'Elena?' he prompted.

'I…I tried a couple of times,' she stuttered. 'I couldn't…'

'Do you trust me, love?'

'Always.'

He rolled them over. She felt the soft sheets of their bed caressing her skin while he loomed over her. 'Just don't ask me if it feels good while you're doing whatever you're doing,' she muttered hastily.

He smiled. 'You're beautiful, Elena,' he whispered.

'Stop flattering me,' she murmured, her cheeks were tinged with red.

He placed a quick kiss on her lips before venturing down her throat, licking the tops of her breast. She wound one of her hands in his hair, while the other held onto his back. His teeth grazed her nipple while his fingers teased her slit over the silk she wore.

There was a curious warmth building inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to ease strange sensations his fingers were eliciting from her pussy.

His mouth left sweet, wet kisses on her abdomen, while his fingers continued to tease.

'Damon…please' she panted.

'What do you want, Elena?'

'I…I don't—' he pressed her mound sharply with the heel of his hand.

'Ahh, fuck,' she screamed, her hips leaving the bed and thrusting into the juncture of his thighs. He moved away at the last moment, her covered pussy barely grazing the underside of his cock.

He gave her no time to react as his bent over her pelvis and tore her black silk panties like wet paper. She was bared to his gaze and the look in his eyes…it made her want to be bold, reckless, uninhibited.

'Eat me, Damon,' she commanded sweetly, not knowing she was breaking his self-control, not knowing how ravishing she looked.

So, when he put his mouth on her pussy, she fisted his hair, holding onto those raven locks and moaning her pleasure.

His tongue probed open her lips, while one of his fingers entered her passage. It had been seven years and she still felt the same inside, Damon thought. Tight and warm and safe.

He found her clit and he teased it—mercilessly. So much so that she was bucking. He held her down, one of his arms holding her down as she pulled at his hair, insistent and painful at times.

'Damon, please…'

'Damon, please I want…'

He inserted another finger in her channel. Her walls were quivering around his digits. He scissored his fingers and gently bit her clitoris—a hint of teeth and pain.

She screamed and her walls clamped around his fingers. He felt her coming. All hot and sticky and slippery and so his.

He kissed her gently on her mound. Her fingers in his hair had loosened.

He felt like smiling and crying.

He'd given her pleasure. This time she'd screamed because she'd experienced something that he should have given her years ago unlike the last time when her silence had held her pain.

So, he stayed there for a while, his face buried in her cunt, till he was sure no tears would fall from his eyes.

'See, you can have orgasms,' he pointed out as he came to lie beside her.

'Maybe, I didn't know what I was doing. But I'd read so much about it and tried everything I'd read about,' she explained, frowning.

'You read porn when I'm not around, Elena?' He quirked an eyebrow.

'Erotica, Damon.' She rolled her eyes at his apparent choice of words.

'So?'

'So, what?' he asked.

'Aren't we going to do the deed?'

'Do the deed?'

'Have sex?'

'Sex?' he enquired pointedly.

'Okay, make love! Aren't we going to do it?' She moved closer to him, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. The warm skin broke out into gooseflesh beneath her fingers.

'Well, the thing is Elena that I'm a little old fashioned when it comes to making love to you,' he said imperiously.

She looked at him in confusion, her eyes narrowed and then it dawned on her what he meant. Her mouth fell open in surprise.

'Seriously?' she whispered furiously. 'We won't be having sex until we marry?'

'We can do other things,' he said with a straight face, trying not to laugh at the fury so evident on her face.

'Other things, my ass,' she said bossily as she pounced on him.

Night peeked through the window and smiled at the sound of laughter ringing in the room, content to witness the playful couple wrestling naked on the bed.

Night had hungered for such a scene in this room for years…

* * *

 **This is where I say goodbye for now.**

 **This is my humble offering, the only birthday gift I could give Eva, and my homage to the man on whom I modeled my Damon—the man who has loved me even in my unlovable moments, without whom I might not be even here, writing to you people.**

 **Eva, I love you. You're a comforting presence, a friend I can always count on. You kept your impressive talent under wraps for so long or maybe I just didn't pay attention when I should have. I expect more stories from you.**

 **My reviewers, you are absolute darlings. You have read my story, encouraged me, appreciated my craft—I've no words for the kindness and love you've bestowed on me for which I'm truly, truly grateful.**

 **Carol, I got to know you a bit more through your reviews. They've been highlights of my day. And your words, they are simply amazing. The sheer number of stories you've written is astounding. All those words—I have no words for sheer brilliance and dedication that you have for your craft. I'm slowly reading through your work.**

 **And finally, Lori, thank you, babe, for being my Damon. For loving me and not giving up on me. Even for sharing too much info about your girlfriends and your sexcapades and trying to cheer me up. For being there, come hell or high water. For just being yourself. Thank you, and I love you...**


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